


the heart is a greenhouse; the body is summer.

by Boomkin



Series: Greg the Horse [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, The Witcher (TV) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety, Family Issues, Getting Together, Henry is Patient, Horny Men Being Horny, Inconvenient Terraced Housing, Joey is oblivious, Juggling a platonic soulmate and romantic partner, Loneliness, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Third Person Limited, Phone Conversations, Quarantine, Scent Kink, Self-Esteem, Valerian Root, Volkswagen Personified, Warhammer 40k - Freeform, Wine Gums, World of Warcraft - Freeform, chest hair kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24479356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boomkin/pseuds/Boomkin
Summary: A week into quarantine, Joey is forced out of his apartment for two weeks. He plans to stay with his parents, but Henry says otherwise. Madeleine knows what's up, but she's staying out of it. Unless, of course, Henry does something like, say, break Joey's heart. Then she'll have to kidnap his dog. Thankfully, Henry is a consummate gentleman.
Relationships: Joey Batey & Madeleine Hyland, Joey Batey/Henry Cavill
Series: Greg the Horse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866055
Comments: 66
Kudos: 159
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	1. Ūnus

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This work is completely fictional. I do not know any of the people depicted herein. I know nothing about them other than what can be gleaned from their public personas. For instance, does Joey Batey own a Fender Telecaster? I mean, maybe? Probably not, but in this story he does. 
> 
> *Minor edits made 7/6/20 to fix grammar, punctuation, etc.

**ŪNUS**

It starts with a bedroom door slamming shut and the _sweep sweep_ of stocking feet on carpet. Eyes, dull and weary, shift over the various items that litter the bed. The panic had run its course, culminating in a brief spike of anger that faded into utter defeat. At this point, Joey is running on fumes, much like a sputtering exhaust pipe with nothing left to expel. He bites at the dry skin around his thumbnail while assessing his belongings. 

Among the covers lay a modest heap of clothing with a small collection of toiletries mixed in; a beat up MacBook and charger (circa 2011, thank you very much), his trusty old Guild acoustic, a janky Telecaster he bought on consignment, a milk crate filled with distortion pedals, and an elegantly embroidered, yet cumbersome carrying case for his lute (or, an evil piece of antiquity as he will sometimes refer to it in a bout of frustration). 

How is he to fit this all into Madeleine’s cramped Volkswagen? 

The answer is this: he won’t. 

“Well I am fit to be tied alright,” he groans, scrubbing a hand through his disheveled crop of hair. Joey is certain that everything on this bed is absolutely essential for his two-week stay in his hometown. _Excluding several litres of wine, of course._

He considers the pile of shirts again. Maybe he could send his clothes by post? That would at least allow him to bring a larger amplifier in their place because, really, it needs to be loud—loud enough to drown out all thoughts. He sighs, long and hitching and pained, before checking the time on his mobile. Madeleine will be back from Tesco at any moment. 

_“_ Right. Pack now, figure out necessities later,” he resolves as he grabs a canvas holdall from under the bed and proceeds to shove every odd and end and then some inside of it. Not a moment later and his front pocket is vibrating, a text from Madeleine no doubt. 

But it’s _not_ his best friend and flatmate, rather it’s Lauren, his boss, texting in the group chat he’s dubbed “Witcherly Duties.” She announces the need for a conference call in a couple of hours and checks to see if it will work for everyone. The replies come quickly, unanimously affirmative, replete with encouraging words about staying positive through quarantine. Joey bites his lip and rattles off a reply. 

“Sorry, will someone fill me in?” he types. “Had a spot of bother at my flat, will be en route to mum and dad by then.” Lauren assures him it’s no problem and she will give him a ring tomorrow. Freya replies with some colourful emojis and Anya expresses her concern that he will be “totally knackered” by the time he arrives. 

Another reply comes in, separate from the conversation. Of course it’s from Henry who, as a rule, never replies to the group unless he wishes to address everyone, for he loathes side conversations. Joey’s pulse kicks up at the words on the screen: “You’re not going.” _Erm, where am I not going? Has he got the wrong person?_ He’s quite confused, as Henry has never sent him something so very lacking in context before. 

A week has gone by since production abruptly halted due to the virus, effectively cutting Joey off from everyone but Madeleine. It makes him wonder just what exactly Henry has been up to in isolation. He pockets his mobile, neglecting to grace him with a reply, and goes back to separating some cables. 

_Is he lonely though? He’s got that sweet beastie of a dog, yeah, but what about human connection?_

His thoughts, much to his chagrin, stray to Henry’s scent and how he often catches the natural concentration of it at Henry’s wrist when he reaches up to fix Joey’s collar or smooth out an errant strand of hair between takes, how it triggers an instant release of dopamine that manifests as a flutter in the pit of his stomach, a zing of anticipation in his chest. 

Joey’s pocket erupts in a torrent of vibrations. He shrugs, drops the nest of cables directly into his holdall, and pulls out his mobile again. _Oh cock._

“Hello?” He answers with a kinetic sense of urgency. 

“Is everything okay?” Henry asks in a rich baritone that oozes into Joey’s ear, causing the tendons in his neck to flay in heat. 

“I’m fine,” Joey assures him, “ but there’s a bit of a mould problem that’s, erm, draining the flat of its manna apparently. I woke up to my landlord telling me I’ve got twenty-four hours to vacate before they start fumigating.” 

“Shit,” Henry mutters under his breath, concern evident in his tone. Joey laughs inwardly.

“Bit of an understatement.” 

“Well you’re not driving all the way to the North East. No offense to your parents, but why would you want to go there when you’ve got my entire upper level at your disposal? I mean, you never even have to see me if you don’t want to. Kal might not take to that, but we’ll figure it out.”

Joey feels the room spin as he registers Henry’s words. He cradles his head and rests his hip on the window ledge. _His house? Just us? But why? For that long though? Oh, he’ll have had it out with me by the end of it._ He shakes himself from his train of thought. 

“Henry I’m—thank you, that’s very generous of you—but they said it would take a fortnight to clear it and I can’t possibly ask you to put me up for that long.” Henry tuts in disapproval. 

“You’re not asking Joey, because I’m demanding it. I promise you won’t even know I’m here, unless you want to. It just doesn’t make sense for you to travel all that way when I’m literally right across the Thames.” 

Joey tries to wrap his head around the offer, no, the _demand_ _,_ from Henry. _But it’s Henry_ _._ Henry, who had become such a precious gem in his life, though he might as well have “for display only” tattooed on his forehead. To touch would likely mean tripping over a row of stanchions and getting tangled up in the process. Thus, their friendship remained on a professional level, even if they did spend an inordinate amount of time laughing and horsing around like children on set. _Fuck it. Okay, better bring a cat burglar outfit._

“Can I bring my guitars?” Joey asks. “And yes, that’s ‘guitars’ plural.” 

“Hmm, if I say yes, will I finally get a private show at some point?” Henry responds cheekily. Joey chokes on his own spit but quickly recovers.

“Oh, I’ll give you a show alright,” he murmurs, trying desperately to keep the sultry edge in his voice from wavering as he clutches his mobile for dear life. 

Henry chuckles darkly. “Bring the lute too,” he husks in that low “Geralt of Rivia” tone. Joey stares incredulously at a crack in the floorboard. Henry clears his throat. 

“I’ll text you my address,” he says, all business again, before hanging up. 

Joey tosses his phone and then himself onto the bed, collapsing face first in a cluster of socks, which conveniently muffles his low whine of protest. _Gods above, at least I’m no longer getting back to a place where I have to essentially hide from myself. Although, now I’ve completely different problems to deal with._

“Please, please turn out to be a horrible, disgusting person when you’re at home,” he pleads amid the silence. _I’m too weak for this._


	2. Duo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Queen Madeleine. She takes the wheel here, literally.
> 
> *Minor edits made 7/6/20 to fix grammar, punctuation, etc.

**DUO**

Madeleine’s Volkswagen is a faded yellow Beetle that has seen better days, namely before the odometer rolled into six digits, though that was but a brief period, considering she inherited the vehicle well past its prime. 

She named her Ditsy. 

And though she loved her dearly, Ditsy could be quite annoying some days. 

This was one of those days, Joey had decreed upon trying to cram his belongings into her narrow boot. 

“Ditsy, you...fucking diva. Just...shut! Why won’t you SHUT?” He yells, trying to press the lid closed over the haphazard pile of essentials. And really, it is _just_ the essentials, for the Telecaster, amp, and pedals sit patiently at his feet. The acoustic is beyond imperative, no doubt about it; He is, primarily, a folk musician after all. 

“Oi! Leave off,” Madeleine crows from the driver’s seat. “She’s doing her best!” Joey snorts because that's a lie if he's ever heard one. She opens her door and walks around to the back, nudging him out of the way to inspect his work. She clicks her tongue, grabs the holdall sticking out at the top and shoves it into Joey’s hands. “Watch and learn, dearest,” she croons. Joey indeed watches as she proceeds to exercise her spatial reasoning skills. 

“What sort of black magic fuckery was that?” he squawks, eyes wide and mouth agape as he stares at everything perfectly packed with enough room to close the lid. Madeleine puts her hands on her hips, looking smug. 

“I can’t reveal all my secrets now, can I?” Joey rolls his eyes. 

They fold themselves into the cab and while Madeleine fiddles with her handbag at his feet, Joey scrambles to find a way to tell her that she’s going to have to drive to Manchester alone. 

“What’s wrong?” She implores, still sifting through her provisions. Joey tenses. 

“Nothing is wrong, darling.”

“Oh, hmm, well then why are you doing your hair pulling thing? Stop or it’ll turn red.” He looks down at his exposed chest to find a red patch blossoming under the hair there. “Oh cock it. Alright look, erm, hmm, I-I’m not going to my parents.” Madeleine stops her rifling and swings her head around, gaping at Joey through a sideways stare.

“Really?” She purrs, all smooth and velvety. Joey is not in the mood for banter, which he can tell she’s gearing up for by the mocking undercurrent in her voice, the dramatic movement in her gestures. He slumps down in his seat.

“Yes, really.”

“But I packed our favourite for the trip,” she pouts, setting a package of Wine Gums on his lap. He grimaces. _I’m a right prick now, aren’t I?_

“We’re still eating them,” he states matter-of-factly. 

“You know it’s not the same,” she grouses. 

What he wants to say is this: “I know it’s not the same, but please let it be okay.” He has a little trouble conveying it out loud, however. 

“I don’t care if we have to faff around town with Ditsy for an hour. We’re eating the sodding sweets before I leave, Madeleine. It’s tradition!” Madeleine wordlessly pulls out of the parking block, her lips pressed together in a thin line. 

“Alright, darling, I know. We can’t break tradition,” she concedes before reassuring him with a gentle press of her fingers around his wrist. “So, where are we off to? I need to know which crossing to take.” 

Joey is silent as he stares directly ahead, taking in his surroundings. The streets are nigh abandoned, save for a few errant pedestrians in face coverings who walk with a purpose to their gait. He blinks and sighs, glancing over at her. 

“Erm, it’s near Queens Gate. I’ll pull up the map when we reach Chelsea.” She shoots him an incredulous look. 

“Are you having me on?” 

“No, Madeleine, I’m not.” 

“I knew this would happen eventually,” she murmurs conspiratorially. “You’re staying with _him,_ yeah? _”_ And the way she says it, as if “he” is an otherworldly being, someone completely removed from their realm of existence. 

“Yes, alright? I didn’t—look, Henry found out what happened and then he rang me and just outright demanded that I stay at his flat. It wasn’t actually my idea,” he explains in a distempered sort of way. She raises a hand to her forehead.

”I—I need...hang on.” Joey face palms, waiting for Madeleine to pull the car over. 

She slows to a full stop at the side of the road. They’re somewhere near Stockwell, Joey realizes, looking out the passenger side window. A car alarm sounds off nearby and a dog barks loudly in the distance, ridding the cab of its piercing silence. Joey turns to Madeleine, studying the side of her face. He watches her eyes dart back and forth. She appears to be looking at something in earnest through the windscreen, but Joey knows she can’t see anything outside of her thoughts. Madeleine squeezes the steering wheel and then lets her hands fall to her lap as she faces Joey. 

“Alright, look, I won’t get into your business, but I swear to God, if he breaks your heart, I’ll kidnap that dog of his.” Joey emits a beautiful, melodious ripple of a laugh. “If you think I’m having a joke, I’m not,” she gravely informs him.

“Madeleine, it’s not like that. Nothing will come of it because I’m certain he’s not interested.” 

“What about the premiere?” Joey frowns. _Oh, that._

“Honestly, that was probably just a one off, some sort of weird energy. He likely just got lost on the way back from the toilet and then happened to follow the sound of the piano.” She scoffs. 

“You said he deliberately looked for you when he realized you left. Isn’t that what he told you? What about when you _gazed_ into each other’s eyes, hmm? I’ll bet you twenty quid he’s completely gone on you.” Joey lets out a long breath and rubs at his eyes. He knows better than to gamble with her. 

“I dunno. Really, I’ve no idea if _Superman_ even goes for men or not, let alone _me._ Madeleine, I’ve thought about this a lot and I really can’t think about it anymore or I’ll go completely barmy. I will.” Madeline giggles into her hand. 

“You say that, but for all you really know he could be out clubbing in Vauxhall on weekends.” Joey snorts, loud and inelegant. 

“I’m sorry to disappoint, but I happen to know that he spent all of last Saturday playing _Skyrim_ in a bathrobe.” 

“Oh darling, he’s perfect for you,” she teases. Joey groans and presses his head against her shoulder. 

“Don’t tell me that,” he whispers. She rests her head against his and runs her fingers through his hair affectionately. They remain that way for a few moments and then Madeleine deems it appropriate to continue on their drive. Joey watches her movements as she peels away from the kerb, expertly shifting gears and releasing the clutch. 

He is often amazed at her ability to drive manual while simultaneously applying mascara and messing around with the knobs on the radio. He supposes it’s second nature, as it’s rare for her not to be tinkering with the gearbox in an effort to temper Ditsy’s unpredictability. As such, they’re about to cross the Chelsea Bridge when the engine begins to putter. Joey groans in vexation. 

“Oh, Dits, come on, love, don’t do this now,” Madeleine pleads, quickly downshifting to put Ditsy at ease.

“Ditsy! I swear to all that is holy, I will put a fucking boot on your tyre if you don’t behave!” He yells. Madeleine gasps and orders him to take it back, but there will be no take backs, he explains. 

* * *

They’re parked along an endless stretch of white terraced housing with neatly clipped hedges and well placed trees that act as a canopy along the private drive. Joey chews on his Wine Gums and surveys the opposite side of the street, namely the faded brick wall covered in ivy that partially obscures the home behind it. There’s a locked gate in front of what appears to be the landing of a descending staircase. It’s all very rustic and even a bit shabby considering the posh aesthetic of the surrounding homes. 

Madeleine picks out all the black currant flavoured pieces from the bag while humming along to Joey’s Spotify playlist, chewing and bopping her head as she watches two women, dressed to the nines, carry a very large painting into the flat a few metres away. 

“What song is this darling?” Joey eyes her curiously.

“How can you forget ‘Cemetry Gates?’ The title is part of the lyrics,” he points out. 

“Ooh, yeah, that’s right. Erm, Joey, love, you’re pulling again. Stop that!” He lets go quickly, noticing that the patch of red is even darker now. 

“Cock,” he says under his breath, scrambling to fasten the buttons that will cover it. 

“I don’t know why you’re so nervous, dear. You see him all the time at work. This can’t be much different.” Joey finishes the last of their sweets and crumples the empty bag into a tight ball. He’s about to fire off a retort when a figure appears behind the gate he’s been eyeing obsessively. _Oh fuck._

“Oh...oh, that’s why,” Madeleine concludes in a breathy voice as the figure emerges, looking like the picture of comfort in a beanie and jumper. His smile shows off his perfect, white teeth and his translucent eyes turn squinty as they catch the sunlight that beams down along the road. 

“I mean, I’ve seen pictures of him, obviously. And—and I’ve always thought, like alright, yes he _is_ a good looking chap, but, oh darling, in person, he’s—”

“Yes, Madeleine, _I know._ And believe me, it doesn’t wear off. Every time I see him, I feel like I’m meeting him for the first time all over again. Bollocks, here he comes.” Joey clambers out of the car, nearly tearing the door handle off in the process. 

“Ah, my bard has arrived!” Henry exclaims. “Oh and he even has his own driver, smashing!” 

“Oh, erm, Madeleine stop being shy and say hello!” Joey hollers from the boot, unloading his belongings. He watches as Madeleine steps out of the driver's seat, nervously smoothing out her skirt. It isn’t often he sees her act this way, with the demeanor of a bashful school girl. 

“Normally, I would hug you, but given what’s happening, it’s probably best not to do so,” Henry explains with a comely little pout on his lips. Madeleine appears as if her cat just died and Joey has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. 

“Oh, well, you see, if you’re sick, then Joey’s probably sick, which means I’m sick, so, erm, I don’t think it’d be a problem. I mean, I don’t mind,” she stammers, clearing her throat. Henry considers her for a moment, eyes roving over her face before pulling her to him. 

He wraps her in his arms, locking them tight around her waist, and it’s as if she’s been eaten up. She’s tall, but thin, with dainty features that are lost among his broad, muscled frame. 

“I’m so happy to finally meet you,” Henry declares in a voice barely audible to Joey as they lock eyes over her shoulder.

“Oh yes, I’ve heard so much about you; I feel like I already know you,” Madeleine gushes as they separate slightly, studying each other’s faces. Henry positively beams.

“The feeling is mutual, Madeleine,” he assures. Joey smirks, noticing the red blotches forming on her cheeks. He’s never seen her so reluctant when Henry steps back, moving over to the boot and grabbing the encased Telecaster at Joey’s feet. 

The three of them exchange pleasantries while Joey finishes unloading. Henry takes the time to compliment Madeleine on the new album, to which she stammers and blushes even more. Joey slams the boot shut and then Madeleine is squeezing the life out of him, hands rubbing soothingly along his back. He can smell Henry on her and for a moment he’s stuck in a “worlds colliding” sort of trance. 

“I’ll ring you when I get to my parents,” she assures him. He sobers and then nuzzles her neck, eyes shut tight. 

“Please do,” he murmurs. “And if you find yourself stranded, if Ditsy doesn’t make it—“

“I’ll be alright, darling. Dad will come and get me if anything happens.” They part and Joey readjusts the strap of his holdall. 

“Darling,” she whispers, out of earshot. He looks at her expectantly. “Have you got _everything?”_ She gives him a pointed look. “Tell me now if you don’t and I can nip over to Sainsbury’s right quick.” He tries not to scowl at her, for he knows it’s just her way of showing that she cares. 

“Goodbye _darling,_ I’ll see you in fourteen days,” he announces loud enough for Henry to hear. She sticks her tongue out at him and slides behind the wheel, pulling the door closed with a haughty air. 

“Everything alright?” Henry inquires. Joey shakes his head dismissively as they make their way to the gate. 

“Henry!” Madeleine calls out. They turn around to look at her. She has the window rolled down while she manoeuvres into the street. “It was lovely meeting you, and Joey is right, you _are_ rather dishy.” She speeds away with a wink and a grin.


	3. Trēs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joey tries to navigate the terrain of Henry's life, but it takes some time to get his land legs. He learns a thing or two along the way, however.
> 
> *Minor edits made 7/6/20 to fix grammar, punctuation, etc.

**TRĒS**

The flat is complicated in its layout, Joey discovers. There’s a lower and an upper ground floor, which are split between the actual ground that’s level with the street. They enter through the door on the lower landing and Joey just about trips over the bear-like creature that comes bolting through the entryway. 

“Settle down, Kal!” Henry sturdily commands, kicking the door shut and effectively barring the beastly dog from escaping. Joey drops his holdall and sets his acoustic case down before toppling over under Kal’s weight. 

“Yes, yes I missed you too you big oaf,” he coos, letting the dog lick his face as he scratches all over his fluffy head. 

“That’s enough, Kal!” Henry chides. 

“Oh no, he’s fine. I love this,” Joey assures him. Henry nudges Kal off of Joey and then helps him to his feet. 

“Yes, but I don’t like that he gets a proper greeting before I do,” he grouses, pulling Joey into a firm embrace. He’s warm and Joey can feel the definition of his pectorals against his own, making his skin tingle where they touch. 

“I’m so glad you’re here and not stuck in Newcastle,” Henry mutters. Joey stiffens, prompting Henry to tighten his grasp. “I know you’ve never spoken about it outright, but I’ve gathered that you have some...reservations about getting back there.” 

“Now I understand why people cry when it’s their birthday and you gift them something they mentioned in passing a year earlier. This might be the same feeling.” Joey can feel Henry’s laugh, the gentle rumble of it in his chest. Henry pulls back and for a fraction of a second, Joey can smell Madeleine’s shampoo emanating from his neckline. 

“What’s that look for?” Henry inquires, concerned. Joey waves him off. 

“It’s nothing. I just, erm, smell Madeleine on your shirt and it surprised me is all.” Henry looks amused. 

“Well, you have nothing to worry about. She’s a lovely woman, but I’m not interested. Besides, I would never try to get between you two.” Joey’s eyes widen in shock.

“Oh, erm, it’s—it’s not like that with us. I thought you knew? I mean I love her dearly, just not in that way. In fact, well, it’s complicated, but I—well surely you must have gathered by now...” he stammers. Henry looks at him almost tenderly, if he’s not mistaken. 

“Yes, but I wasn’t certain. Some people like both, you know,” he says in earnest, his stare penetrating. Joey swallows audibly and shoves his sweaty hands into his pockets. Several questions come to mind, but suddenly Henry is frowning and placing his fingertips on Joey’s chest. Joey glances down to find his shirt peeking open through the buttonholes where it’s still red and blotchy. 

“It’s, erm, it’s alright. Just a bit irritated,” Joey explains, nonchalant. Henry purses his lips. 

“Are you sure?” He sounds skeptical. “Let me have a look.” He gingerly releases the button and peels back the shirt as if revealing a small treasure. Joey can’t help the slight tremor of his breath when Henry brushes his thumb through the hair there, checking the skin below it. 

“Were you scratching?” He asks in concern. Joey shakes his head. 

“Erm, I was pulling at it. Nervous habit.” Henry considers him for a moment, leaning in slightly, his twinkling gaze flickering back and forth between Joey’s eyes and the hand on his chest. _What is he—? Is he trying to get a closer look?_ Henry stills and bites his lip. 

“You’re nervous?” He all but whispers. And really, Joey wishes he had a fainting couch nearby because, right now, the fact that Henry even exists within the same space as him is enough to warrant collapsing. Now, leaning in close and touching such a sensitive area, Joey feels constricted, as if moving even a fraction will reveal Henry’s effect on him. 

“Erm, n—no, I’m, well I’m—“

Kal barks loudly, zooming through the hallway and all around the formal living room to Joey’s left. A loud ringing buzzes from an intercom by the doorway. Henry hangs his head, wincing. 

“Sorry, I ordered takeaway for you. I’ll be right back.” It lingers on Joey’s skin, the scorching imprint of Henry’s touch, but distance leaves him with a little clarity. 

“Wait, for me, as in, _just_ me? What about you?” 

“I already ate, per my schedule. Diet, remember? But that doesn’t mean you’re to go hungry though,” Henry informs him as he walks over to the threshold. _Why do I always go for the nurturing ones?_

* * *

Joey is unnerved to find that Henry’s set him up on the second floor which consists of one enormous master bed and bath along with a staircase leading up to an overgrown rooftop terrace that’s basically a glorified storage unit. Meanwhile, Henry’s main dwelling place is either the lower ground level or basement, which means Joey has to descend two or three flights of stairs whenever he has a question, like “Where do you keep extra bath sheets?” or “Can I use that veg in the crisper to make stir fry tomorrow?” Henry suggests he text whenever he needs something, but Joey refuses to be lazy. 

And true to Henry’s word, Joey really doesn’t have to see him unless he wants to. In fact, he rarely sees Henry at all for the first few days, as their schedules are mostly offset, along with the fact that they seem to be playing an odd game of chicken, both refraining from seeking the other out without a legitimate reason. So Joey divides his time between reading, writing, and playing guitar. He favors his acoustic, obviously, but he does eventually make use of the electric, messing around with the distortion and overdrive pedals to try and kill the silence. In the evenings, he calls Madeleine and tries with all his might to not complain about Henry having the same bedtime as his nan. 

“Doesn’t he wake up at 4 o’clock to exercise?” Madeleine wonders. But that’s besides the point. The point is that Joey is getting lonely and Kal is clearly loyal to his father, so much that he has to wrangle the beast into going for a walk. 

“He’s used to a certain schedule,” Henry had rationalized. 

“It won’t kill him to deviate just a little. He’s not the one with the face of a franchise to live up to,” Joey retorted. 

On day four, Joey has a revelation. He wakes around nine in the morning, which is a feat because up until now, Henry would have already finished eating his deliciously plain, unseasoned chicken breast for elevenses before Joey was even on his first cuppa. Joey wanders into the dining room to find the french doors open with Henry sitting out on the small patio area. It looks inviting, so he carefully steps over a snoring Kal and gathers himself into the other lounge chair. He takes a moment to savor his coffee, sipping and sighing with gusto.

“Let me know when you’re at full health,” Henry jests, or tries to at least. Joey ceases drinking and looks over at him. He’s staring out into the distance; his battered copy of _Blood of Elves_ is opened, the pages heavily annotated, a pen tucked in the center. _He sounds so...hollow._

“You alright?” Joey cautiously inquires. 

Henry heaves a sigh and rests his head on his propped up arm, continuing to stare vacantly at the trellised ivy in front of them. 

“I’m fine. I’m just, erm, frustrated I suppose. Well, maybe not, maybe restless is what I mean.” Joey sets his beverage down on the table and folds his legs so his chin is resting on his knees. 

“Exercise not helping?” Henry shrugs. Joey frowns.

“I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I’m also feeling a bit flighty myself. I think I’m driving Madeleine insane with all the texts and phone calls.” Joey glances at Henry and notices the way his jaw clicks, the tension in his arm as he grips the book in his hand. 

_Oh. Oh fuck. That sounds—_

It’s like his veins are being flushed out with ice water. _How am I so bleeding inept?_

“Henry?” Joey all but coos. Henry looks up at him with knitted brows. _I couldn’t stand it if he’s lonely. Fuck. But he’s got so many...well he must call people, no?_ Joey shakes himself. _Okay, must fix this._

“Henry, erm, I was wondering, since we’re here together, we could—it could be less like flat mates and more like, erm, well we _are_ friends, aren’t we?” Henry smiles and shoots him a haughty look. 

“Yes, but you’re more than just my friend.” Joey nearly chokes on his drink.

“O—oh, I am? How so?” 

“You’re also my bard,” Henry says in his Geralt voice. Joey shivers despite the pleasant temperature. _Yes, of course...of course that’s it._

“I am. And on the phone, you said you wanted me to play for you. Do you still—?”

_“Yes,”_ Henry responds emphatically, like he can barely contain the giddiness in his voice. Joey swallows a couple of times, his voice suddenly gone dry. _Of fucking course._

“I’ll get my guitar...and the lute too while I’m at it. I need the practice.” 

The weather stays decent, so they spend the rest of the morning sitting outside. Joey starts out on the lute with some nondescript baroque compositions by Henry Purcell that he claims to be absolutely rubbish at. 

“Mm, well you know what I think?” Henry implores. Joey raises an inquisitive eyebrow and then Henry scoots forward, whispering, “I think you might be fishing for compliments.” Joey feels his face heat up, sweat prickling on the back of his neck.

“Am not!” He crows, trying, and failing to hide a grin. And then, of course, Henry asks him to play something from _The Horror and the Wild_ _._ “Aww, I _knew_ you would ask me that,” he whines with a hand covering his face. 

“Well, when you make something as brilliant as that, you should expect such a request,” Henry teases. 

“But Madeleine’s not here to sing with me,” he points out lamely. Henry stares at him incredulously as if to say, “Really? That’s your excuse?” _Fuck, okay, knew that probably wouldn’t work._

“It doesn’t have to be a whole song, just a couple verses, hmm?” And the way Henry asks, so soft and sweet, it rips up Joey’s insides until he has no choice but to acquiesce. 

He goes with a medley instead of any one song and he _cannot_ look at Henry whatsoever, so he keeps his eyes shut for the most part. When he finishes, he’s so overcome that he feels like he might vomit and he _cannot_ look at Henry. The sky has turned overcast and a gentle breeze sets in, cooling Joey’s overheated cheeks and forehead. He inhales deeply and lets his eyes flutter open, but he still _cannot_ look at Henry. That is, until Henry whispers the word “amazing,” so quietly that it gets tangled up amid the susurrus and Joey might be mistaken because surely it was just something the wind picked up, but the expression on Henry’s face, when he finally looks at him, says otherwise. 

“I have chills,” Henry croaks out, voice hoarse. 

“You’re not getting sick are you?” Joey asks in alarm, noticing that Henry’s eyes are rimmed red and his voice sounds a little congested. Henry chuckles. 

“I’m not getting sick, Joey,” he assures him. Joey nods and licks his lips, swallowing hard. _Right. Probably the wind then._

“Well I—I hope I was able to make you feel better, even if just a little bit,” he says sheepishly. 

“You did _...much_ more than that,” Henry murmurs. “Thank you.” He reaches over to squeeze Joey’s hand and they both hold on tight. 

* * *

That evening, Joey resolves to try and sync up with Henry’s schedule, at least enough for them to spend more time together. He sets his alarm for five in the morning and tries to fall asleep. After twenty minutes he glances over at his phone charging on the nightstand. 

“Cock it,” he grunts before unplugging it and throwing open his browser, carefully switching to incognito mode. _Nothing like a good wank to help you sleep._

Needless to say, he sleeps like the dead after that. Never having been much of a morning person, he has to literally roll onto the floor to force himself into consciousness when his alarm goes off. 

“Christ, it’s like I’ve been run over by Ditsy,” he groans out with a hand to his forehead. By the time he’s washed up and shimmied into a pair of joggers, he feels slightly better, maybe even a little excited while taking the stairs to Henry’s workout room. 

His slight burst of energy fades, however, when he discovers the lights are off and the room is empty. For a moment, Joey wonders if Henry went for a run in the park, but then he remembers they’re in quarantine. Just as he considers going back to bed, Kal runs up and sticks his wet nose in Joey’s backside. 

“Oof. Good morning to you too, love,” he croons, bending down to pet the beastly canine. “And where is your dad, hmm?” Kal makes a whining noise and trots off downstairs, stopping midway for Joey to catch up. They end up in Henry’s office with Kal trying to jump on his father, who’s engrossed in a wall of text on his computer screen.

“Agh, Kal, bugger off,” he chides. “And what are you doing up this early?” Joey assesses the disheveled wave of hair, the coarse stubbly cheeks, and the glasses perched on the edge of his nose. _I can’t tell if he’s just woken up or if he’s been up all night._

“Erm, I thought I’d try and sync up to your schedule, see what all the fuss is about. But, it looks like you’re having a one off, yeah?” Joey scratches at the back of his head and stretches. Henry turns fully in his expensive looking chair and leans back. 

“Kind of. I’ve been working out at six lately, cutting myself some slack. I’ve been, well it’s funny, I’ve always been interested in _Warhammer,_ anything related to Games Workshop actually. I love reading all the lore they’ve built up and I, well I’ve always liked writing so I’m—“ He gestures to the screen. Joey cracks a smile. 

“Are you writing _Warhammer_ fan fiction?” Henry contemplates it. 

“Eh, I suppose so. It’s really just to see how I write. I’d like to hone my skills and, who knows, maybe one day I’ll write my own fantasy series.” Joey walks up to him and puts his hands on Henry’s bath robe covered shoulders. 

“I think it’s brilliant. Honestly, it’s wonderful, darling.” Henry’s eyes widen for a short moment before he schools his expression into something neutral. 

“What’s that look for?” Joey asks. Henry bites his lip and looks away. _Is he...embarrassed?_

“It’s just, you called me ‘darling.’” Joey blinks.

“Erm, are you not comfortable with that? I won’t do it again if—“

“No!” Henry interjects. “That’s not it at all. I—I was just surprised because you’ve never done that before.” 

“Henry, what are you talking about? I say ‘darling’ all the time.” Joey watches Henry’s throat bobs as he swallows.

“Not to me. You’ve never called _me_ ‘darling’ before.” _Oh…_

“It just...it felt natural, I think. So that’s why I—Well, I’m not sure why I started now, at this moment.” Joey notices, while he stutters through his explanation, that Henry has the most boyish grin on his face. For a moment he can see the twenty year old below the surface of his features, but then Henry’s gripped him in a hug.

“Call me ‘darling’ again,” Henry demands over his shoulder. Joey gulps and his pulse begins to pick up speed. 

“A-alright, erm, darling?” 

“Again, do it again, please, Joey,” Henry pleads into the hair above Joey’s ear. Joey turns his head inward, nosing along the fluffy collar, inhaling the scent of toothpaste and coffee.

“Well, alright, darling.” Henry nuzzles his neck for a moment and makes a deep, rumbling noise in contentment. “Does this make you happy, darling?” Joey murmurs, voice pitched low, almost sensual. Henry nods emphatically, voice catching on a groan. 

_This man. Oh, this man is hungry. I could—I’d keep him fed if he’d let me. I would._

The scent of petrichor creeps into the air, saturating the room. Joey looks up at the window that’s flush with the ceiling, reminding him that they’re, in fact, underground. Rain begins to pelt against the exposed glass, causing rivulets of water to sluice along the casing. Henry curses, tearing himself from their embrace to pull the hopper shut, mumbling something about fresh air being a pain in the arse.

He turns around, his glasses askew, hair even messier and Joey so badly wants to blurt out all the questions swirling in his mind. _What do you want from me? What are your intentions? Do you do this with everyone or are you just desperate for touch, for intimacy? Why are you so frustrating? Also, would it kill you to not be so perfect?_

“I’m…” Henry pauses, unsure. “Did that make you uncomfortable?” 

“No, not at all. I said it because you are.” 

“I’m what?”

“A darling. You’re a darling.” _Darling, darling, darling. Oh I could say it to you all day. I’d whisper it to you as you sleep. I’d wail it when you’re hurt. I’d moan it in your ear to make you—_

Henry clears his throat and announces he’s got to ready himself for his workout. Joey’s brain feels like it’s spinning. _Right, workout._

“Yes, erm, I’ll meet you upstairs. Oh, and, before I forget, I want you to introduce me to _Warhammer_ sometime. I’m a bit familiar, but I’ve never actually played or read the books or anything.” Joey expects a nod or grunt of acknowledgement before he walks away. Instead, Henry practically vibrates with excitement, quickly launching into his personal history with miniature wargaming, beginning with his father introducing him to _HeroQuest_ when he was but knee high to a grasshopper and ending with a detailed explanation of why _Age of Sigmar_ is complete rubbish. 

Joey listens to the wistful tone of his account and stares helplessly at his glinting eyes which hold the memories that play out before him. _I wish I could see how it looked, feel the emotions he felt._ Henry squeezes Joey’s shoulder before exiting the room. Joey collapses into the desk chair and shuts his eyes to collect himself. _It’s always an ache, not quite painful, but not exactly pleasant either, somewhere between a puncture wound and sunstroke._

* * *

After a day of exercise involving resistance bands and showing off his wellspring of yoga poses, Joey eats a bowl of porridge oats for supper and effectively passes out on the couch while the sun is setting. He wakes abruptly, in the still of the night, to find the room shrouded in darkness and a blanket thrown over his lower half. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he gets up slowly, disoriented from his surroundings and not keen to exacerbate it. A small sensor light covers the hallway in a dim glow, beckoning Joey like a moth to a flame. 

He can hear the sound of gas escaping and then a quick snap and whoosh, the telltale sound of a burner being lit. Instead of turning right to take the stairs up to bed, Joey decides to peek his head in the kitchen and see what Henry’s doing up so late. He finds him leaning against the counter, engrossed in a paperback, the light from the range illuminating his lenses, and a kettle bubbling behind him. Joey stares, almost reluctant to disturb him—to upset this picture of domesticity. He wants to preserve every detail—the scent of tea leaves in the air, the flick of a turning page, the gentle sigh borne of restless energy—that captures Henry at his most authentic. 

“Hello there,” Henry suddenly blurts out, removing his glasses. Joey is struck with a sort of mental whiplash, being jarred from his thoughts by an unwitting invasiveness. 

“Oh fuck. Shit. I’m—I think I’m a bit out of sorts. The couch, erm, a little disorienting.” Henry sidles up to his hiding spot between the doorway and fridge and places a hand on his cheek, studying his shifty gaze.

“You may be dehydrated. Here, sit down.” He practically manhandles Joey into one of the seats at the island and then shoves a cold glass of water into his hand. Joey drinks and watches him tend to the whistling kettle. Henry putters around, preparing the tea before setting a cup of it in front of him. “It has valerian root in it. I can’t sleep, if you haven’t noticed.” Joey never would have guessed. 

They sit in silence, taking tentative sips of the scalding beverage and staring straight ahead. Joey isn’t sure what to say to Henry here, in the dark kitchen, at two o’clock in the morning, that doesn’t sound horribly desperate and needy. Although, he figures, if there’s ever a good time to have a heart to heart, a dark kitchen at two o'clock in the morning _would_ be a perfect place for it. So, he rolls the dice. 

Setting his tea cup down and turning in the chair, he asks, simply, “How are you, Henry?” 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Henry replies automatically. Joey waits for the other shoe to drop.

A beat. 

And then,

Henry sighs heavily, meeting Joey’s gaze. 

“Do you want to know the truth?” He murmurs. Joey swallows hard and nods. _Alright, then._

“I’m terrified.” _Fuck. There it is._

“Erm, of what exactly?” 

“Of this isolation going on for weeks, maybe months, who knows.” Joey nods once. 

“I dread it, definitely, completely...but, erm, what makes it terrifying for you, if you don’t mind me asking?” He can see Henry’s throat working, fists clenching reflexively. 

“Being alone with my thoughts, having to constantly distract myself. With idleness comes loneliness, if you didn’t know.” Joey purses his lips and observes Henry’s defensive posture. _He looks exhausted._ “It’s not all bad. Kal helps. I’d be a complete basket case without him.” Joey grabs his hand and laces their fingers together. 

“What is it that you don’t want to think about?” Henry sips his tea, slowly, oh so slowly. 

“Well, when I’m busy with work, I’ve less time to think about how I’m the only one out of five siblings who hasn’t got a family,” he explains. “I turn thirty-seven in a little over a month, Joey, and I absolutely _ache_ when I see my brothers with my nieces and nephews.” His raw, thinned out voice twists and burrows deep in Joey’s chest, reducing him to a state of feral tenderness. 

_Oh darling dearest._

He wants to hug him, hold him close and protect him from _...from_ _what? From being human?_

Joey’s eyelids flicker. Their hands are still clasped and he can feel Henry’s thumb rubbing along his knuckles. He clears his throat. 

“It’s hard to be patient about the things we want. I always try to let my life unfold organically. And ‘try’ is the keyword here. Erm, it’s better, in the end, I think? Sorry, that’s probably not helpful.”

He knows it’s not the best response. There’s nothing that can be said to take away the pain of what one lacks in life, but it at least conjures a quiet little laugh out of him.

“I always just assumed I’d have children before forty. How presumptuous of me,” Henry admits with disdain. 

“Madeleine wants to be a surrogate someday.” Joey regrets the statement from the moment it leaves his lips. _Fuck. That was not for me to share. Not at all. Why did I even say that? To even imply that he might...that she might..._ Joey bites his lip and glances out of the corner of his eye to assess the damage, finding that Henry is staring at him with an expression he can’t decipher. 

“Do you want children someday?” He asks casually, but there’s an undercurrent of tension, as though the question is heavily weighted in disguise. Joey considers it for a moment. 

“Well, maybe. If it goes that way. I certainly do like children. I’ve never thought too much about it, honestly. I’ve always pictured myself with someone who can put up with my dramatics, throw a dog or a cat in the mix, and Bob’s your uncle.” Joey follows Henry’s line of sight down to their hands, still locked together. Henry’s sweeping thumb stills and then Joey meets his eyes.

“As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that what people end up with in life is never exactly what they set out for. Like for me, well I always just assumed I would one day have a wife, even though…” Henry trails off, the muscle in his jaw jumping. 

“What is it?” Joey, on the edge of his seat, prompts him. Henry glances away in contemplation. When he looks back, his smile is bright, eyes confident. 

“Remember earlier when I misread your relationship with Madeleine and I said some people like both?” Joey chokes on his tea, rasping for breath. 

“Fuck” he gasps out. Henry slaps him on the back. He clears his throat noisily and tries to take a deep, steady breath. 

“You weren’t expecting that, were you?” Joey looks sheepish as he shakes his head. 

“M’sorry. Christ, that was fucking rude of me.” He clears his throat again. “That’s, God, I—well that’s smashing, honestly. Erm, is this a recent discovery, if you don’t mind my asking?” 

“It’s fine. Eh, I think I figured it out in boarding school, but it wasn’t until much later, when I was filming _The Tudors_ that I really, erm, explored it. There were, and I can’t emphasize this enough, _a lot_ of young, horny blokes on that set. At that point I was shagging as much as I was acting. Men and women. All the time.” Joey tries to keep his face neutral, but the thought of Henry fucking his way around set has his blood pumping. _Well I certainly know what I’m wanking off to later._

“I’m assuming not a lot of people know this?” Henry shakes his head. 

“Very few. My mum, well she doesn’t know the specifics, but she knows enough; my brother Charlie, some of the cast, obviously, and erm, Lucy.” Joey furrows his brow in confusion. 

“Lucy? You mean, the Lucy we work with?” Henry coughs. 

“Yeh, erm, we dated briefly a few years ago, but it didn’t work out for us. We’re still good friends though.” 

“So, two family members; a few random colleagues, for all intents and purposes; an ex-lover-slash-friend and now me,” Joey murmurs. Henry nods.

“Yes, and now you.” Joey blinks a few times and has to grip the wooden edge of the island to keep himself grounded. There’s so much to process, and yet, he can’t help but think _Damnit, Madeleine. How are you always right?_

Henry watches him expectantly. There’s a reason he’s decided to share this. Joey is sure of it, but he’s hesitant to dig deeper at such a late hour. He feels dizzy and he’s not certain if it’s because of Henry’s confession or the valerian root taking effect. Regardless, he needs sleep. Of course though, he can’t stop punishing himself, so he soldiers on. 

“Do you think you might try to make things work with her? Lucy, I mean?” _Well, I’ve got to know whether to be jealous of this woman or not._ Henry laughs as if he can hear Joey’s thoughts and that doesn’t freak him out. Not at all. 

“No. She definitely doesn’t want to, and although I used to, I’ve...well I’ve gone off her.” 

“Oh, erm, well that’s...that’s something.” Henry smiles roguishly and it makes Joey’s insides heat despite how drowsy he is. 

“She’s a very strong willed woman who definitely knows her way around a sword,” Henry continues, “but that’s not really what I’m after anymore.” Joey rests his head on his arm and smiles sleepily, eyes nearly closed. _More knackered than I thought, I guess._

“Oh really? And now what are you after?” He asks, voice feathery, as if on the verge of slumber. Henry inches closer, his head also resting on his arm. He flashes his perfect teeth and rubs his knee against Joey’s. 

“Something a bit more _..._ _poetic.”_ Joey could swear Henry is moving closer to him, but the fact that his head slips from his grasp as he begins to nod off has him second guessing that. Instead, Henry grips his shoulder to steady him. 

“Oof. Easy does it now,” he warns. Joey blinks rapidly into alertness. _Cock. I think...oh God, I’ve either missed something, or I’ve gone completely barmy. Can it be both?_

“I’m _so_ sorry. Erm, I suppose I should go to bed,” Joey suggests, clearly embarrassed. Henry studies his face and frowns. 

“You look a little pale. Maybe the valerian root didn’t agree with you. Why don’t you stay down here so I can make sure you’re alright?” Joey nods. He just wants a lie down no matter where it is at this point.

“Lead the way, darling,” he yawns into his hand. 


	4. Quattuor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joey's morning is anything but ordinary and Henry has an idea.
> 
> *Minor edits made 7/13/20 to fix grammar, punctuation, etc.

**QUATTUOR**

There are several things he does not expect when waking up the next morning. He does not expect to feel groggy and lethargic, as if he can barely move. He does not expect to see Kal staring at him covetously from the floor beside the bed. He _especially_ does not expect to turn over and find Henry sprawled out next to him, covers kicked below his feet and a prominent erection straining against his underpants.

_Holy fucking cock. Literally._

Joey forces himself to look away, instead focusing on Henry’s sleeping visage. His breath is gentle, eyelashes a dark contrast against his cheeks, and a hand twitching almost imperceptibly next to his ear. It’s all very innocent until rosy lips part a mere fraction to allow the escape of a guttural moan. Joey watches, wide-eyed, as Henry reaches down in his sleep to rub a palm over his clothed cock, body seeking relief. Joey feels his own cock stirring, rapidly filling out as he looks on helplessly. 

_Really though, does he not get lightheaded? Where the fuck—the amount of blood it must take to—_

Henry moans again, shifting sideways, hand tucked snugly in the crease between his balls and thigh. He emits a tiny, singular snore before his breath evens out again, falling back into deep slumber. A shiver runs through Joey. He quickly grabs the covers, wrapping them tight around his body and burrowing into the warmth. He keeps his hands fisted tight against his chest, willing himself to calm down. Eventually he flips over again to stare at Kal, who is now asleep in a way that mimics his father. 

_There, yes, that’ll keep me sane._

When he wakes a few hours later, it is no longer Henry beside him and Kal has upgraded from rough carpet to soft sheets. Joey pets his furry face and kisses his nose. 

“Well good morning to you too, love. Let's go see dad, yeah?” Joey enters the kitchen to find Henry drinking something that looks like it was scooped out of a tar pit, but is most likely healthier than it appears. “That looks god awful, mate,” he mumbles while pouring a generous cup of coffee. 

“Tastes as good as it looks,” Henry responds with a grimace. Joey leans back against the counter, blowing away the steam from his drink. 

“I’m really sorry about last night,” he says dejectedly. “ Erm, you know, for falling asleep on you. Not sure why I was so drowsy.” Henry shakes his head. 

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for. I’m certain it was the valerian root. That stuff can be a bit potent, especially if you’re not used to drinking it.” Joey nods behind his cup. “But you’ll need your energy today, so I’m glad you got a proper rest.” Joey lifts his head suddenly. 

“What are we doing today?” Henry smirks.

“You’ll see. Come on,” he gestures to the dining room, “we have a meeting remember?” Joey, in fact, does remember, sort of. He knew there was supposed to be another video conference sometime during the week, he just wasn’t expecting it to be today. He shrugs, no matter. 

The meeting, to Joey’s amusement, turns into a conversation between Lauren and Henry with everyone else staring vacantly into their screens. As an aside, Lauren mentions her ideas for a “Great Witcher Bake-off” and Henry has the brilliant idea to have everyone complete a little exercise rooted in method acting. “Tell me more,” Lauren had demanded. And that’s why, Joey realizes, he would need all his faculties to make it through today. 

“So you want us to be in character all day?”

“No, no, I meant we should choose what we do today based on what we think our characters would do and then next time we meet we can discuss what we did. Thought it might be a fun way to lift our spirits.” Joey hums in agreement and then considers his options. _Knowing Henry, this is going to turn into something next level. Best take it seriously._

Henry starts out with some sort of meditation routine, much like Geralt would do, while Joey seats himself in the kitchen and works on a grocery list so he can make bigos using his aunt’s recipe. It’s one of the few dishes he can properly cook and he figures it’s not too much of a stretch for Jaskier either.

“Along with all the page boys and scullery maids he was shagging, I’m sure he found himself a kitchen girl who taught him a thing or two when he didn’t have her up against some grain sacks in the pantry,” he explained to a skeptical Henry. 

“And where would he have found the time if he had his hands full with the Countess de Stael?” 

“Oh come on. It’s _Jaskier._ I mean, really, just picture it: a young, blushing chamber maid comes in every day after the countess is gone to find Jaskier still in her bed, how agonizing the tension would be. Until one day, she stops milling about in her tasks because, of course, she’s just about had it with him. One moment they’re making eyes at each other, the next she’s riding his cock with abandon before leaving the room with the soiled sheets.” Henry is silent, gaze steely and jaw clenched shut. Joey notices his shoulders are heaving ever so slightly as he breathes. 

“I’m going to work out. I’ll be awhile. Going to practice with the swords,” he grunts before stalking off through the hallway. Joey bites his lip and shoves his hands in his pockets. _Er, right then. Guess I’ll just...play the lute now._

Joey tries to hold focus, but _thoughts_ begin to fester. Anxious thoughts, about Henry possibly being annoyed by him. _He’s probably tired of hearing all the rubbish that comes out of my mouth._ Sexy thoughts, about Henry in the basement with his shirt off, muscles bulging as he sweats through his drills. _He’s going to be exhausted after and then he has that raid. Fuck, of course that’s tonight!_ He sighs deeply and sets the lute back in its case.

* * *

To make up for their exchange in the kitchen, Joey decides to utilize the gigantic whirlpool in the guest bathroom to prepare a bath for Henry, solely because that’s what Jaskier would do for Geralt. It’s certainly not that he’s horny and can’t get the image of Henry soaking in a tub out of his mind. 

“Well this is unexpected,” Henry claims disingenuously as he wipes the sweat from his forehead. Joey places his hands on his hips. _Oh really?_

“I'm not buying it. With this bathtub? This is the essence of Geralt and Jaskier, right here.” Henry grins.

“Yes, but you didn’t _have_ to do this.” 

“Well, consider it my penance for acting like a complete tosspot earlier.” Henry peels his sweaty shirt off, hangs it over the shower door and then turns to Joey, eyebrows drawn in confusion. 

“What do you mean?” Joey swallows, watching the steam rise from the water in lieu of staring at Henry’s chest. 

“You seemed, erm, upset by what I said about Jaskier before...before you left. I know that was probably a bit wanky of me.” A look of realization crosses Henry's face as he abruptly drops his drawers. 

_Oh fuck. Shit. Damn. Cocking hell._

“I wasn’t upset, Joey. I loved it! I love your imagination. I was...I had a lot of restless energy again, maybe too much coffee earlier, and I just really needed to work out before...before it got worse.” 

Based on the way Henry’s eyes dart around the room, Joey isn’t completely convinced by his explanation. _Best_ _be more reserved from now on._ Henry steps into the hot water and groans. _And get out. I need to get out of here._ Joey makes a beeline for the door. 

“Aren’t you coming in?” Henry manages to ask before Joey passes the threshold. He turns back and looks incredulously at Henry laid out in the bath, which is large enough that he only takes up half of it. 

“Erm, what?” Henry bites his lip and shrugs. 

“You kept looking over here like you wanted to and it’s definitely big enough to hold both of us. Besides, it’s what Geralt and Jaskier would do. You know, to save themselves the trouble of having to reheat the water.” 

“But couldn’t Geralt just cast Igni to heat it up?” Joey asks. _Does it really cocking matter? He wants you to get in there with him!_ Henry actually takes a moment to consider it. 

“I suppose he could. But the water would be scalding at that point and they’d have to cool it down, which would just defeat the purpose.” Joey crosses his arms and nods. 

“Alright, it does look relaxing. Erm, but I need to find my mobile first, in case the delivery's early.” 

Joey remembers leaving it on the kitchen counter, so he traipses down the stairs to retrieve it. He checks his notifications and, seeing nothing urgent, he pockets it. On his way back to the landing, he swings into the half bath just off the end of the hallway, immediately turning the fan on and locking the door. He sighs heavily and looks at his reflection while gripping the sides of the sink.

“Okay, listen up you wanker,” he whispers gruffly to himself. “You’re going to go in there and take your clothes off and get in the water. You will make pleasant conversation and then you will get out, dry off, and get on with your life, yeah? Yeah. Okay.” By the time he makes it back upstairs, Henry is lounging causally with his head back. Along the tiled ledge is a large amber growler and two pint glasses set beside it. “Ooh, now you’re speaking my language,” Joey mumbles, stripping himself of his shirt in the process. “Did you just run down to the kitchen completely starkers? How did I miss you?” Henry snickers and his eyes twinkle mischievously.

“It was no easy feat, but I had to do it. It just wouldn’t be authentic without a pint. I’m sure Jaskier would prefer wine though,” he says with a wink. Joey laughs nervously and shucks his trousers and underpants, kicking them under the vanity. Glancing at himself in the mirror, his cheeks start to burn. If only he had gone in first with Henry following, or better yet, if they had climbed in at the same time. 

“Jaskier may enjoy the finer things in life, but when it comes down to it, he’ll take what he can get,” he explains, hastily climbing up the steps of the tub, intent on plunging into the water as fast as possible, but Henry is leaning back to pour out the ale, so he has to stand there awkwardly for a moment. Henry sets the growler down and offers up the glass to Joey. 

“Drink it, bard,” He demands, voice pitched low. Joey feels his blood heat up and burn through his veins, settling into his gut and pooling even lower. Henry breaks into a roguish smile, staring intently at Joey’s face and very diligently not glancing at the less than flaccid cock in his line of sight. 

“Shouldn’t I be the one serving you?” Joey asks with only the slightest waver before sinking into the jetting water. Henry tilts his head to the side. 

“I like to think that when Geralt’s in a good mood, he’s much more amenable to Jaskier’s company. Maybe he would never admit it, but it’s his actions that convey it.”

“And here the action is serving Jaskier a pint while they bathe together?”

“Hmm. I suppose that’s for you to interpret?” Henry declares superciliously, eyes crinkling in mirth. He runs his tongue along his lower lip and raises his glass. Joey follows suit, careful to maintain a neutral expression. _Cheeky bastard._ They drink silently for a few beats. Joey gulps down a good third of the glass, which prompts Henry to inform him that the beer is strong and he may want to pace himself. 

“Mmm, but it’s delicious and cold and I don’t want to.”

“I’m not letting you pass out in the bath.” 

“Why not? I’m sure Jaskier passes out all the time and Geralt probably picks him up in his big, strong arms and carries him to bed.”

“Mm, yeah, but that was last night. Do you really want a repeat so soon?” 

“Fair enough,” Joey concedes as he sets his glass down and repositions himself so the jet hits directly on his lower spine. He sighs, content for the time being. They relax into it, enjoying their ale at an even pace. Conversation is sporadic, bursts of chatter interlaced with stretches of comfortable silence. For the first time in what seems like an age, Joey feels relaxed and fully content, so he does what comes naturally to him in such a state. 

He sings. 

At first he’s just playing around with a few lines from this and that, but then he settles on an old favourite, one containing an arduous arrangement of lyrics and a melody that is overly repetitive without the instrumental accompaniment. _Fuck it. I’m committed to it._

At the fourth stanza, he cracks an eye open and lifts his head from its languorous position against the lip of the tub. Henry has his pint glass, which appears absolutely minuscule in his enormous palm, poised just below his mouth and the look on his face is pure fire. He’s not sure he’s seen Henry with such an expression and he’s not sure how to measure it, but, oh how it makes him _squirm._

“Did you write that?” Henry asks quietly, setting his drink down without breaking eye contact. 

Joey flashes a tiny smile and looks away with a misty-eyed expression. “No. It’s an old ballad from the sixties” he explains. “It’s by a band called Pentangle. They were primarily folk, but they had a very jazzy, baroque quality to ‘em. My mum had this old record of theirs she used to listen to all the time when we were kids.” He chuckles. “They’re like troubadours actually...” he trails off. Henry continues to stare at him with a smouldering expression and Joey stokes the coals without thinking for once. “Hope I’m not rambling...erm, why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Come here,” Henry commands in a tone that leaves no room for arguing. Joey’s stomach does a sort of flip that scrambles his insides. He leans his head to the side in question. Henry grabs a flannel from the tile edge, holding it out in offering. “Get over here and wash me, bard,” he growls. 

The sound weaves deep inside Joey, tangling up in the nerves and sinews that pull tight on his muscles. The feeling trails down to his cock, making it jump against his inner thigh. _Alright, steady on._ He swallows down another gulp of ale and then hauls himself up onto his knees, hovering in front of Henry. He takes the proffered flannel wordlessly as they stare at each other, silently, heatedly. “So how do you think Jaskier would go about this?” Joey asks innocently. Henry smirks. 

“Figure it out,” he grates. Joey rolls his eyes and tuts, pushing on Henry’s bicep to get him to move so he can sit behind him. Joey folds his legs against his chest, his nestled cock hardening due to the mere scent that Henry exudes up close. The humidity from the bath enriches the smell of salty flesh; he can practically taste the dried sweat in his steam dampened hair and water slick shoulders. 

“Your hair’s getting long,” Joey murmurs as he slides a hand into the thick locks that are beginning to curl at the edges. Henry groans and Joey’s fingers still. “H—here, dunk your head and I’ll wash your hair for you.” Henry obeys and absolutely purrs when Joey exchanges the flannel for a bottle of shampoo, massaging a healthy dollop of it into his scalp. 

“Fuck,” Henry moans. Joey’s cock continues to swell. 

“Erm, that was a very Geralt response," Joey points out, feeling somewhat abashed. 

“It was, but I’m not thinking about that right now.” 

“Alright, well, rinse your hair and then you can tell me what you _are_ thinking about, darling.” 

Henry leans forward to dunk his head under the water while Joey stares at the muscles rippling in his back and wonders if it’s any use to try and calm his racing heart. Emerging once again, Henry shakes his head like a dog and slicks the water from his hair. 

“I’m thinking about the lyrics in the song you just sang. The hunter going after the stag,” he divulges. 

“You mean the young man on his fine horse chasing a white hart?” 

“Yes, exactly.” 

“Well what about it?” Joey watches Henry’s shoulders tense up. 

“Joey, this _entire_ week I’ve felt like I’m the hunter and you’re the white hart. Do you understand?” Joey swallows reflexively. _Oh...does that mean…_

“Henry,” he whispers, pressing a hand between his shoulder blades. “Is this your way of...are you trying to tell me—” Henry turns slightly to look behind him.

“Is it working? I thought, last night when—“ Joey places his hands on Henry’s shoulders, using them as leverage to sit up on his knees. He lowers his head while Henry tilts his up so they’re face to face. From this angle, Joey can see the faint lines around his eyes and forehead. A heavy tenderness plants itself in his chest, growing, weighing on him. 

“Henry,” he murmurs. Henry’s arm shoots out of the water and then his hand is in Joey’s hair, gripping and pulling him in. Their lips slot together perfectly. Joey is gutsy and fiendish in his approach, biting at Henry’s lower lip, licking along his teeth and hard palate. Henry is sweet and even keeled, wanting to taste every nook and cranny thoroughly in long sweeps of his tongue. 

Henry breaks the kiss and turns around, crowding Joey against the wall of the tub. His eyes flicker from Joey’s face down to his neck and chest, a hazy gleam in his eye. Tentatively, he noses along Joey’s collarbone and up into the crook of his neck. Joey sucks in a breath.

“Henry,” he whines, tipping his head back to give him better access to the stretched column of his throat. Henry gently runs his tongue along the thick tendon leading up to his ear. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He whispers huskily. Joey tips forward, eyes hooded in arousal. Shaking his head, his perception of time slows as he runs his fingers along Henry’s rough cheek. Their lips meet again, somewhere in the middle, and his mind reaches an equilibrium, spurring him into action. 

This kiss is different, a slow haze, a languid thing borne from sheer sopor that blooms into a molten heat between them. Joey glides his tongue along Henry’s front teeth, prompting him to open and let his own tongue flicker out in a light tease. Joey groans in pure agony and suddenly Henry’s lifting him onto his lap, one arm locked tight around his hip, the other in his hair. His cock rubs against Henry’s, both of them turgid and flush with blood. Henry bucks against him, gasping into his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Henry moans, again, as he breaks from their kiss. Joey rests his forehead against Henry’s, panting and trying to gain his bearings. For a moment, they simply concentrate on feeling each other. Henry runs his palms down Joey’s back, along his sides, kissing and mouthing at his chest hair. Joey slides his hands from Henry’s nape down to his raised trapezius muscles. He squeezes them, eliciting the most gorgeous groan from the man’s lips. Joey lets his cock slide against Henry’s belly, while Henry’s cock is slotted in the crook of Joey’s thigh. The friction is maddening and Joey can tell that Henry has had enough of this hands above the water nonsense when his arm plunges down and gathers both of their cocks in his large grip. 

“Oh my—Jesus fucking Christ you’re going to kill me,” Joey blurts out, voice already thin and reedy, betraying his need for release. 

“I normally wouldn’t want my spunk in the water like this,” Henry grunts as he begins to pump his hand, causing Joey to choke on his own breath, “but you have been taunting me like hell all fucking week with those painted on trousers and horribly buttoned shirts.”

Joey’s breath hitches; he can feel precum dribble out of his cock, leaching into the water. “‘m sorry. Really didn’t know,” he gasps. 

Henry barks out a laugh. “And then you talk about Jaskier fucking a chamber maid and I can’t stop thinking about your cock slick from her wet cunt as she rides you, moaning, pulling at this while she comes.” He tugs at Joey's chest hair. 

“Oh _fuck,”_ Joey cries out, rutting into Henry’s hand. “Now I’m thinking of you there, watching, getting off on it.” Henry makes a choked off noise. The sound of Joey’s mobile ringing is shrill, traveling along the high peaked walls and echoing down from the large skylight above. Henry ignores it completely; he doesn’t even so much as flinch, but Joey practically sobs and hangs his head. “The groceries,” he whines. 

“Make them wait,” Henry gruffs in his ear as he continues to pull on their joined cocks. Joey shivers despite the warmth of the bath. 

“And stand out in the pissing rain?” He groans in exasperation. Henry stops and blows out a puff of air, exasperated. He tips his head to the side, shooting Joey a determined look before lifting him clear out of the water. Joey appears as though his soul is about to leave his body, watching as Henry’s muscles bunch and ripple to set him down on the edge of the tub. Water sluices down his arms and chest and Joey stares openly, glimpsing at his cock as it juts prominently from the lush thatch of hair at the base before it's submerged once again. 

“Wha—?” he starts to ask, going silent when Henry uses his bulky shoulders to shove his way between Joey’s legs. He grips the base of Joey’s cock and looks up into his eyes. 

“This won’t take long.” 

“How—what—hoooly fuck!” He whimpers when Henry’s lips wrap around the plump, pink head. He works him over, fast and quite skilled, if Joey’s being honest. A barrage of emotions surge through his as he hurtles quickly to the edge. 

“Fuck, _oh Jesus,_ can’t even watch you. Can’t take your time. Draw it out. Mmm, I want to savour it, but, _oh_ , oh fuck I’m— _hnng_ —I’m gonna come,” he cries, the pleasure building up quickly at the base of his spine and rapidly spreading outwards. Henry lets out a positively feral growl and that’s enough for Joey. 

The pleasure surges through him fast and harsh, as though his breath has been yanked from his lungs in a sudden fall. He erupts into Henry’s mouth, coating his throat. Henry swallows greedily and pulls off with a pop, licking his lips. Joey slumps forward into Henry’s grasp and they stay that way long enough to collect themselves. 

“Do you always worry yourself through an orgasm like that?” Henry breathes, amused. Joey groans. 

“I—food—outside. Have to meet.” Henry bursts with laughter, swatting him on the bum. 

“Go now. I’ll take care of myself.” Joey mumbles apologies while stumbling through a quick towel dry and tripping into his crumpled clothes. 

“You may want to do up more than two buttons on that shirt,” Henry calls out to him. 

He looks down at the pelt of hair peeking out between mismatched buttonholes. _Well, at least it’s not falling off._


	5. Qüīnque

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henry has the worst timing, so Joey finds ways to distract himself.
> 
> *Minor edits made 7/13/20 to fix grammar, punctuation, etc.

**QÜĪNQUE**

One of the first things Joey notices while staying at Henry’s is the ease of access and ability to move freely in his enormous kitchen. It’s a far cry from what he’s usually equipped with in his dingy shoe box of a flat, as the pantry alone is as big as Joey’s entire kitchen. It makes him want to spend time cooking an actual meal rather than simply throwing something prepackaged in the microwave while drinking straight from the wine bottle. 

Preparing the Polish stew is not nearly as frustrating as he thought it might be, even if the dish is one of the very few in his repertoire. At home, if they were both around, Madeleine would start dinner while Joey walked to the local Tesco to pick up wine. This was just the natural order of things and he found no reason to tamper with it. But if he had a kitchen like this, he _might_ be more inclined to change it up once in a while. Alas, he does not have the luxury of living anywhere in London that isn’t practically stacked on top of his best friend and flatmate, not that he doesn’t love living that way. She’s basically his other half, after all. 

A gentle nudge against the back of his thigh pulls Joey out of his reverie. He turns away from the range, where he is currently sautéing the meat and onions, to find Kal nosing around his legs. 

“Hello my love,” he sighs gently, euphoniously, to the beastly canine. “I imagine you’re here because it smells divine and you’d like to sample. Well, unfortunately for you, your dad would kill me with his giant muscles if I allowed such an indulgence, so get comfy because this will be on the hob for a while.” 

“Did you just refer to my dog as ‘your love’?” Henry asks in an amused tone. Joey turns to find him strolling towards the refrigerator, hair still a bit damp from their bath.

_Their bath._

He can’t even think about that right now. He hasn’t had time to process. And as a rule, his anxiety doesn’t allow him to make any sort of declaration or take action without allowing time for self doubt and/or second guessing every decision he’s made that has brought him to the present. No, instead he takes a generous drink of wine to get himself together and proceeds to _not_ look at Henry’s throat working as he chugs a bottle of water. 

“Yes, I did, because I love him dearly. Is there a problem?” Joey asks a bit snippily. He can hear Henry’s quiet little chuckle. 

“Not at all. I’m just happy you’re getting on so well,” he pauses and Joey looks up at him, almost shy under the scrutiny of Henry’s playful gaze. “And you’re right, you know.” Joey swallows hard.

“About?” Henry flashes the most devilish of smiles. 

“If you give him any of that, you will be punished. Severely.” He stares, gobsmacked, stomach fluttering, pulse rabbiting. Without even gauging Joey’s reaction, Henry turns back around. “C’mon, Kal,” he says to his loyal companion. “You can keep me company while I raid.” 

“Erm, ah, whatever you do, don’t get caught up in guild drama,” Joey shouts at his retreating form. Henry expels a loud guffaw and then mentions something about leading a pick-up group and ineptitude and to wish him luck. Joey waits until he can distantly hear a door thumping closed before letting out a deep breath that turns into a sigh. 

“How are you so fucking blasé when you just had my cock down your throat not thirty minutes ago? Not a word about it, oh no, not I. I’ll just threaten to fuck him into oblivion and then go and play a computer game for three or more cocking hours,” he mutters angrily under his breath as he tears into a package of bacon. When finished, he reaches for his wine and drains the contents in a large gulp. Eyeing the empty glass, Joey shrugs and proceeds to grab the bottle from the fridge to drink directly from it while he browns the bacon.

It ends up burning a little bit on the edges. _Of fucking course._

* * *

“No, it wasn’t like that. He told me the day I came here that he had a raid scheduled for tonight. He didn’t just randomly decide to run instances all evening and ignore me,” Joey explains to Anya over the phone. 

He’s sat in the window seat of Henry’s more formal sitting room, which is fairly sparse, yet somehow cozy in nature. _It’s the neutral colour palette,_ Madeleine would say. Two sofas made of button tufted, brown leather sit opposite each other, replete with heavy throw blankets haphazardly draped over them. Besides the, frankly, enormous coffee table, the only other furniture in the room is a vintage looking chess table, tucked into the far corner, with two wingback chairs that lie on either side. Upon one of the chairs is a dilapidated cardboard box. Joey eyes it curiously. 

“Joey! Hello? Are you even listening to me?” He shakes himself from his thoughts. He’ll have to investigate later. 

“Sorry Anya,” he mumbles to the actress, who had become a friend and somewhat of a confidante regarding everything Henry. 

“Look, if it’s something he had already scheduled, then I suppose it must be important to him. It’s only for tonight right?” Joey sighs.

“Yeah, just tonight.” 

“So then where’s the problem?”

He hesitates to explain. If he tells her about their rushed tryst in the bath, he knows she will tell Freya; They’re basically attached at the hip, and it’s not that he doesn’t trust them, but it’s in his nature to imagine all the possibilities of where things could go wrong. 

It’s Anya’s turn to sigh. “What’s wrong? I know there’s something you’re not telling me.” Joey groans and hangs his head.

“Oh my god! Something _happened_ between you two, didn’t it? I fucking knew it. He’s such a gentleman with everyone, but the way he looks at you? The man is thirsty, Joey.” 

“What are you on about? That’s just the way he is. He has a very...intense gaze.”

“Oh my fuck, really? How are you so intelligent, yet so oblivious?” Joey splutters. Okay well, it’s not like he didn’t have an _inkling._ “Anyway, I need details. Wait, no, oh my god, Freya will absolutely fly off the handle if we don’t include her.” Joey makes a reluctant noise. “Oh come off it, she’s been rooting for you two since the beginning.” He snorts because of course she has. 

Joey throws his head back and stares at the vaulted ceiling while he waits for Freya to join the call. It’s not that he doesn’t like her, quite the opposite, but when Anya and she get together they turn into gossipy teenagers. Normally he finds it quite endearing, when he’s not the subject, that is. 

“This better be good because I was just in the middle of unboxing my new keyboard, by myself, I might add,” Freya urges upon joining in. Anya makes her swear to keep everything hush hush. 

“On my nan's grave, now spill!” She demands. Joey rolls his eyes. 

“Fucking _fine._ Okay. Henry has this gargantuan whirlpool, so we, erm, had a bath together, and...things happened but then delivery came and I had to deal with that and now he’s playing _Warcraft_ and I think it’s going to be all night long because, well that’s how it works out sometimes, most of the time? I dunno. I never played myself, but I know enough about it from people who have.” Joey realizes he’s rambling, so he pauses and waits for one of them to say something. A long stretch of silence follows. 

“Erm, you girls are still there, yeah?”

“You—you’re taking the piss out of us, surely,” Freya deduces, incredulity apparent in her voice. Anya readily agrees. Joey promises he’s not lying. 

What follows is a lot of squealing, which means Joey has to pull his mobile away from his ear to avoid hearing loss. 

They discuss what occurred in more detail. Joey convinces himself that Henry wants to forget the bath ever happened, which is why he said nothing during their interlude in the kitchen and then effectively shut himself in his office for the rest of the evening. Yet, Anya and Freya say otherwise. 

“Look, Joey, I haven’t spent as much time with him as Anya has, but what I do know is that even though Henry is charming,” her voice wavers a little, “and—and handsome… and intelligent...and witty and—“ 

“We get it, you need a new pair of knickers every time you’re around him,” Anya teases. 

“Excuse me! We aren’t talking about me!” Freya shrieks. 

“She’s right though,” Joey interjects. “You can't even go near him without blushing like mad. It’s rather adorable.” 

“What I was going to say before I was interrupted, very rudely I may add, is that Henry can be, well, oblivious sometimes,” Freya explains. “He probably doesn’t even realize what it looks like, fucking off to go do his witchcraft thing instead of being with you.” 

_“Warcraft,_ Freya. It’s _World of Warcraft,”_ Joey gently corrects. He can tell she’s rolling her eyes. Anya giggles.

“If I was you, I’d walk in there and demand his attention. Maybe sit on his lap? Hmm?” Joey makes an affronted noise. 

“While he’s in a raid, Anya? You can’t just—it would distract him and then their DPS would drop and then what if they wipe and it’s all my fault?” 

“I thought you said you didn’t play?”

“I don’t,” Joey assures her. She snorts, disbelieving. 

“You should just go wait for him in his bed, under the covers, completely starkers,” Freya murmurs conspiratorially. Anya squeaks. Joey face palms. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re a randy girl. Is this what you think about when you’re together on set?” He all but screeches. 

They fall into a fit of laughter and, by the end of it, Joey feels a little less anxious. _It’s fine. It wasn’t all for nought. I just have to be patient. Everything will unfold as it should, naturally._ When Joey finishes the call, he intends to have a look inside the box on the chair, but then he remembers that he needs to add the bacon to the sauté before it’s too late. 

* * *

He eats his stew alone that night, in bed, while reading a book and drinking wine from a pewter chalice he found in the back of Henry’s cupboard. At least he thinks it’s pewter. Judging by the ostentatious design, he assumes it’s probably a souvenir of some sort. Regardless, it called to him.

He takes a large sip and eyes it carefully, book in one hand and the bowl of stew resting on his stomach. He knows there is a high risk of spilling all over the covers, especially while so far into his cups, but it’s a bad habit that he’s more than willing to indulge.

An hour later, he jolts awake after falling asleep with the empty chalice tucked into his side and the paperback on his chest, mouth parched and in urgent need of water. The walk downstairs to the kitchen is like finding his way back onstage for another set while properly pissed. It’s not that he can’t do it, he just has to work a little harder to keep upright. Why it matters here, in this context, he’s not sure, as he’s technically alone. _I swear, it’s because I always feel like a total cock up around anyone who isn’t Madeleine._

His sight improves the closer he draws to the dining room, the lights in the chandelier having been left on from earlier. After a quick interlude in the toilet, he’s feeling a bit clearer, slightly energetic even, so he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and wanders over to the living room, sitting down and whipping out his mobile. He checks the time and thinks about calling Madeleine because it doesn’t feel right, being wine drunk on the sofa without her by his side. Just as he’s about to pull up her contact, he glances over at the box that caught his eye earlier. _It’s probably old clothes or something of the sort._

“Well now I have to know,” he huffs as he gets up and walks over to it. Careful not to disturb the thin coating of dust along the top, he gently pulls the flaps apart and gasps at what he sees. 

“Holy—I fucking love _Stratego!”_ He exclaims to no one in particular and then proceeds to pull out a collection of board games, all in faded and scuffed packaging that look straight out of the early nineties. One by one, he stacks them on the chess table: _DungeonQuest, HeroQuest, Axis & Allies. _“It just goes on and on,” he breathes.

“Sorry, but did I just hear you declare your love for one of my childhood obsessions?” Joey visibly jumps and fumbles with a copy of _Talisman,_ nearly dropping it. He turns to find Henry in the archway, hair perfectly askew and leaning on a chest of drawers. _He always picks the perfect time to enter. Always when I’m least expecting it!_

“Childhood wha? Henry! What—why am I just finding these now?” He gestures to the pile before him. “What have we been doing all week? We’ve wasted hours upon hours that I could have spent kicking your arse at something!” The idea garners a laugh out of Henry, who walks into the room and settles his elbows over a wingback chair. 

“You said you wanted to work on your music.” Henry shrugs his shoulders. “And I didn’t want you to feel like you had to spend time with me, especially since you were so reluctant to come here.” Joey’s face falls. 

“It’s not that I didn’t want to. It’s just…” He swallows and averts his eyes. _How do I…_

“Have I been...interpreting this all wrong?” Henry murmurs, gripping the chair now. Joey shakes his head. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

“I wanted to come, of course I wanted to, but I _was_ reluctant because I—fuck, Henry.” He drags his fingers through his hair and blows out a shaky breath. Henry raises his eyebrows, lips parted, as if unsure what to say. “Since I _met_ you I’ve tried to keep you at arms length. And then as I got to know you, I knew I was in for it. I can’t—“ He swallows again. “I didn’t think it was even a _possibility_ that you would want me. I just—it’s like I wanted to get over it before it even started.” Henry moves closer and puts his hands on Joey’s biceps, squeezing. 

“What about now? After what we did upstairs...do you want to stop?” Joey shakes his head vehemently. 

“I thought _you_ might want to. You, erm, didn’t say anything after and I sort of convinced myself you regretted it?” Henry leans his forehead against Joey’s, smirking. 

“The only thing I regret is that we were interrupted and had to rush through it, but it couldn’t be helped,” he says softly, nudging the tip of Joey’s nose with his own. 

“Well,” Joey husks, brushing his lips against Henry as he speaks. “We could go to your room and take our time…” Henry runs his fingertips along Joey’s throat, down through the v neck of his shirt, and back up to cup his cheeks and claim his mouth. Joey makes a desperate sounding noise in the back of his throat and instantly pushes his fingers under Henry’s shirt, feeling the soft layer of hair and then the resistance of hard muscle. His cock gives a valiant twitch, arousal pooling in his belly. He can feel Henry start to harden in his joggers, but before he can drag his fingers lower, Henry breaks away and places his hands over Joey’s, halting him.

“Tomorrow,” he says confidently. Joey pouts, blue eyes quivering helplessly. Henry runs his fingers through Joey’s hair, assuaging him. 

“I woke up at six, spent almost half the day exercising, and then raided for five hours. I’m about to fall asleep on my feet,” he explains. “Besides, I can smell the wine seeping from your pores. You need water and a good night's rest.” Joey arches an eyebrow in amusement. 

“Are you... mothering me?” Henry smirks again, but this time with a menacing glint.

“Let’s not beat around the bush,” he murmurs close to Joey’s ear. “Tomorrow we’re going to spend most of the day in bed, shagging, and I want you to be ready because I fully intend to put you through your paces. Think of it as a culmination of all the yoga you’ve been doing here.” Joey feels all the breath in his lungs exit in a mad rush, making space for the fluttering shock of anticipation. 

“Fucking cock, Henry,” he chokes out. “Do you have...I mean, do we need anyth—“

“I have plenty of lube, if that’s what you’re asking.” Joey relaxes, placing his hands on Henry’s chest. 

“Thank Christ, I mean, have you _seen_ your cock? It’s...sort of been a while for me and—“ 

“Mm, but have you seen _yours?_ I’m the one that should be worried,” Henry confesses in a mumble while nosing along Joey's hairline. Joey freezes, his mouth agape. A slow smile creeps onto Henry’s face. Joey tightens his hold on Henry to keep from swooning and then tucks his face into the crook of Henry’s neck, reveling in the concentration of his natural musk gathered there. 

“Darling, are you telling me that you want _me_ to fuck _you?”_ He whispers, lips shifting against the sandpapery hinge of Henry’s jaw and feeling more than hearing his inward gasp of breath. Henry pulls back and cups Joey’s cheeks, sticking him with a smouldering gaze. 

“I’m not telling you, I’m absolutely demanding it.” Joey forgets how to breathe and Henry plants a chaste kiss on his lips with a satisfied hum. “But first, sleep.”


	6. Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically what the chapter title says.
> 
> *Minor edits made 7/14/20 to fix grammar, punctuation, etc.

**SEX**

It’s not an easy sleep for Joey. He thrashes and kicks the blankets off and pulls them back on when he wakes up chilled. This happens thrice over during the night and it’s definitely from the wine. Normally he had Madeleine to split a bottle with, but he was on his own with this one. 

Whilst in the middle of a fitful dream, Joey is pulled into consciousness and immediately accosted by the smell of dog hair and wet grass. The accompanying sound of panting and whining is a dead giveaway as to who it might be. 

“Oof. Kal, love, what have you got up to, you wretched thing? You smell vile!” Kal slobbers and tries to lick at Joey’s face, so he grabs a pillow to cover himself. 

“KAL DOWN! NOW!” He hears Henry’s muffled yell. Kal whines, feelings hurt from such chastisement. He uses Joey’s chest as a springboard to launch himself off the bed, knocking the wind out of him. Joey pulls the pillow from his face and splutters.

“I am _so_ sorry, he saw a squirrel and went absolutely bonkers. And, of course, I left the back door open.”

“‘S’alright,” Joey slurs, trying to shake the sleep from his voice. He sits up and rubs his eyes. Henry clucks his tongue. 

“Rough night?” 

“A lot of wine will do that,” Joey croaks. His vision comes into focus to find Henry in his joggers and a frayed pullover. “No workout this morning?” Henry shakes his head. 

“It’s Sunday. Besides, there will be _plenty_ of working out later, remember?” Joey clears his throat and swallows, trying to make his voice work. 

“Oh really? What kind?” He asks innocently, batting his eyes. 

Henry smirks and tilts his head to the side. Joey watches as Henry’s eyes sweep over his collarbones down to his toned biceps and chest. He’s compact, yes, but he has muscle and the hair of a beast; he is definitely not a flower bending in the wind, as it were. 

“Cardio. Lots and lots of cardio,” Henry answers hungrily with a lick of his lips. Changing lanes, he slides his hands into his pockets and straightens his expression. “I’m going to shower and then I’ll make you some breakfast, yeah?” Joey nods, unable to make his throat work again. Henry grins and backs out of the room, calling out for Kal along the way. 

Joey lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. He would be calm and clear after a long, hot shower. It was the perfect antidote to his frazzled nerves, he was sure of it. 

* * *

Something yeasty is wafting through the closed door, something like...bread? Joey slips into a fresh pair of jeans that leave little to the imagination and wonders if Henry is baking. _Surely I haven’t taken that long?_ Indeed, he had a shower and shave that happened to be extended due to his interest in testing out the unique acoustics with his rendition of the a-side of _The Queen is Dead_ by The Smiths. 

And, of course, that made him think of the fact that Madeleine has the lyrics to the entire album memorized, yet she doesn’t actually know any of the titles, which then made him feel homesick, and thus triggered an impromptu phone call to listen to the calming, deep velvet of her voice. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel her fingers softly raking through his hair and the gentle vibration of her chest as she quietly hums a tranquil melody while holding him close. 

“How are you, my dear? Are you getting on alright?” she asks sweetly. Her soft lilt produces a tempering effect, his shoulders sagging. It had been a couple days, and thus an eternity, since they last spoke. He tells her he misses her, for the upteenth time. It’s been lovely at Henry’s, but he actually feels a bit homesick for their tiny digs. 

“Don’t forget, if we’re lucky, we might get back before two weeks. Wouldn’t that be smashing?” Joey isn’t sure exactly. He wants to be home, but he’s also really loving it here. He tells her as much and she hums in understanding. 

“I’m having a lovely time of it with mum and dad, but I fear we may have it out with each other any day now. I can feel it coming.”

Joey laughs, a genuine, full bellied laugh and it makes him ache for her presence. She asks about Henry and he tries to tell her as much as possible without getting too explicit. That’s a conversation for when he’s home and they’re curled up on the sofa with a bottle of Hendricks. She’s silent through most of his account of the last week, “hmm”-ing and “ah”-ing in all the right places. 

“I hope you enjoy yourself, darling. And remember, don’t fret if you cry afterwards. It’ll be alright. ” Her words bring about a great yearning in Joey, as he so badly wants to hold her in his arms. 

“Oh Madeleine, how do you always know exactly what to say and _when_ to say it?” She giggles in that husky, rich tone of hers. 

“I just listen to the timbre of your voice, darling. It tells me everything you haven’t said.” 

“Right, of course, silly me.” She giggles again and a warmth spreads within him, starting in his chest and trailing through his extremities. 

The call ends with Madeleine sending her love and assurance his way. In that, he finds the wherewithal to change from a muted jumper into something that he can button poorly, thereby causing immense agitation in Henry who, once again, will have to look at the tufts of hair that peek out between the fastenings. 

When he reaches the kitchen, Henry is hunched over the oven, pulling out a large loaf of freshly baked bread. Joey feels a barrage of emotions overcome him: confusion, wonder, surprise, fondness, more confusion. Henry looks up at him and smiles. 

“Don’t ask, but I found an easy recipe for homemade bread the other day. I woke up way too early for a Sunday and then one thing led to another,” he shrugs. “I figured it would go well with the leftover stew.” He unwraps then bread from the tea towel and snaps a quick picture of it balanced in his palm.

“For social media?” Joey questions.

“It’s something low key. I’d prefer not to show my face until we’re back at it. I mean, if possible.” 

“Giving the fans something to look forward to?”

“Erm, yeah, we’ll go with that. But, in reality, it’s because my hair’s gone to that awkward growing out place and I can’t exactly cut it.” Joey laughs. 

“Mate, you know nothing of awkwardly long hair. Mine used to be really long, like _really_ really long. It was always fucked up, never had a proper brush,” he explains as he seats himself at the island. “ I have a picture somewhere. If I find it someday, I’ll show you.” 

“Please do. I’m holding you to it,” Henry declares with gravity. “Now, I already ate much, much earlier, but I can make you something. What would you like?” He leans his hands against the wood grain countertop, biceps bulging and rippling. Joey, almost certain he’s doing it on purpose, licks his lips and leans back in his chair, allowing his too small shirt to strain at the buttons.

“Yoghurt?” Joey answers, unsure. Henry’s eyebrows draw together, clearly displeased. “I generally don’t eat breakfast, so, erm, that will be fine,” he explains. 

Henry appears affronted. Nevertheless, he pulls out a large container along with some granola and blueberries. He grabs a bowl and spoon as well. 

“What do you mean you don’t eat breakfast? I’ve seen you eat it plenty of times on set.” Joey shrugs and spoons some yoghurt into the bowl. 

“It’s a bit different on set, you know that. The hours and schedule are all over the place,” he pauses, sprinkling some granola on top. He ignores the blueberries. “When I’m at home though, I’m rarely awake for breakfast.” Henry nods in understanding. 

“Sometimes I wish I could live so...freely, but I’ve got to keep a routine or I’ll end up going berserk.” Joey crunches through his yoghurt for a moment and thinks about the differences between Henry and himself, how their lives rarely match up outside of work. _Could we even make a go of it? He’s so disciplined and successful and I’m..._

“What’s wrong?” Henry implores. Joey frowns, spoon poised in his hand. 

“I’m just thinking, you eat what your nutritionist tells you to, on a schedule and with very little deviation, right?” Henry nods. “Me? I’m the type of person who eats cereal at three in the afternoon and pot noodles at midnight. If Madeleine and I are feeling ambitious, we might order takeaway,” he sighs and drops his spoon in the bowl. “I sleep too much, drink too much. I’m an anxious, nervous wreck half the time and I stumble through life, while you—I mean, how can you...?” He purses his lips, trailing off. 

Henry walks around to where Joey’s sitting and grabs his thigh, turning him on the bar stool and wedging his legs in between to keep him there. He leaves his palm in a firm grip and moves his other hand to mirror it. Joey feels his skin heat up from Henry’s warmth burning a hole through his trousers and into his skin. _Fuck, the way he just brandishes those hands, like it’s nothing._

“The only reason I’m able to keep myself in check is that I have the money to have someone do it for me,” Henry explains calmly. “Yes, I’ve got to put in the effort, but it’s taken me _years_ to get to this point. And honestly? It’s given me little more than a vanity complex and exhaustive loneliness. Please, Joey, don’t put the cart before the horse.” Joey huffs and bites his lip, averting his eyes. 

“Fine. I’ll stop being so...morose.” Henry grins and glides his hands up to Joey’s waist, thumbs rubbing along his hip bones. Joey’s breath hitches and Henry leans forward to nip at his lips. 

“Good,” Henry says before lowering his voice to a coarse whisper. “Because I just had to watch you lick up all that yoghurt and I’ve done everything I can to not picture you doing the same with my spunk, but I’m at my limit here, love.” 

Joey barely lets Henry finish speaking before wrapping his arms around the meat of his shoulders and pulling him in. 

“Tell me, darling, when did you last have a wank?” He teases before tugging Henry’s bottom lip between his teeth. Henry groans, the sound emanating from somewhere deep in his chest and rattling Joey’s bones with its intensity. 

“You know when it was,” he grumbles. Joey smirks, skimming his lips along the dimple in Henry’s chin. 

“Ooh, no wonder. Far too long ago.” Henry grabs at Joey’s jaw with intent. 

“Fix it,” he commands before Joey surges forward and devours his mouth. Henry tips his head to the side and brings both hands to cup Joey’s face. The kiss turns desperate. Joey tastes remnants of butter on Henry’s tongue and breathes in traces of washing up liquid on his clothes. He’s searching for something else, however, so he breaks away to run his nose along the hinge of Henry’s jaw, down to the throbbing pulse in his neck. He runs his tongue along the edge of his stubble, tasting salt and something inherently Henry. It makes Joey’s cock jump and he becomes impatient. His hands grip the bottom of Henry’s shirt, preparing to tug it upwards and off, but Henry stops him. “Wait,” he breathes. “Come with me.” He takes hold of Joey’s hand and tugs him towards the staircase. 

When they reach Henry’s bedroom, it’s rather cold, being partially underground. Thin slats of light filter in from the louvres, casting odd shadows along the unmade bed. Joey’s eyes flutter shut for a moment and the thought of himself curled up, naked, under the covers with Henry comes to mind, their shared body heat keeping the chill in the air at bay, the afternoon sun illuminating the brown flecks in Henry’s eye. 

“Alright?” Henry asks quietly, running his hands up and down Joey’s shoulders to warm him. Joey positively beams. 

“It’s perfect.” 

“Good.” 

Joey is caught off guard as he’s spun around and then pushed back on the bed by Henry’s quick and deft movements. His brain short circuits watching Henry grab either side of his shirt and rip it clear apart.He studies the sinewy veins in Henry’s hands and forearms before registering the loose threads and tears in the stitching of his now ruined garment.

“Fucking cock,” he whimpers, eyes meeting Henry’s. 

“The sodding thing was frustrating me. I’m not sorry.” Henry barks, diving in to paw and mouth at Joey’s chest. Joey falls back onto the covers, turning his head slightly into a pillow. What he inhales there has him positively buzzing. Layers and layers of Henry’s scent, a heady mixture of those testosterone based pheromones, so concentrated, he can practically taste it. By god, he’s hard, so fucking hard that it’s verging on painful. 

“I can’t be sure, but it seems like you very much get off on the way I smell,” Henry laughs. Joey looks up, watching him kiss along his sternum. 

“Can’t help it,” he gasps as Henry licks and bites at his nipple. He wraps his arms around Henry’s back and starts to claw at his shirt. Henry quickly divests himself of it and then Joey’s hands attach themselves to his skin like heavy magnets. The tips of his fingers feel charged as they glide along the ridges and dips of muscle that make up Henry’s body. 

Joey stares at Henry’s cock straining against his joggers. He licks his lips and, without preamble, grabs hold of the waistband and pulls down. He can distantly hear Henry suck in a breath while he looks open and unabashedly at the leaking appendage before him. 

“Fucking hell,” he sighs. “Really darling, is there any part of you that isn’t gorgeous?” Henry simpers and takes hold of himself, stroking a couple times. Joey licks his lips, watching the slickness from the tip spread with each pass of his hand, down to the wild thatch of hair at the base. 

Joey wants to feel it all on his tongue, the way it curves upwards just so, the defined vein that spans the length of it and branches out near the root. 

“What are you thinking?” Henry asks heatedly. Joey can feel saliva start to pool on his tongue. 

“I’m thinking about how I need you to stop doing that and let me put it in my mouth.” Immediately, Henry lets go of himself and Joey takes hold of his arse cheeks, pulling him forward. Henry scoots his legs up and lowers himself down enough for Joey to reach him. 

It’s a bit daunting, Henry’s large, powerful thighs flanking his shoulders, the heavy set of his balls hanging like a kettlebell above his face. 

But then Henry reaches out, stroking along his cheek with his thumb, and Joey leans up to gently swipe his tongue through the slit to taste him, feeling his legs tense up and his breath hitch. They stare at each other for a beat.

_Then._

Without ceremony, Henry’s cock slides between Joey’s parted lips, his tongue running along the underside, getting it good and wet. Henry shivers and pushes a little farther until Joey hollows out his cheeks and begins to suck with enthusiasm. He watches Henry’s thighs clench again, hears the shuddering moan fall from his lips. Joey can’t help but smile around his cock and then Henry begins making these little hitching movements, sliding further and further into Joey’s mouth after each withdrawal. Joey breathes evenly through his nose, relaxes his throat as much as possible. It’s been a while since he’s done this, but the idea that he could fall out of practice is preposterous to him. 

“Fuck,” Henry groans with his head tilted back, giving Joey a flattering view of the tendons flexing along the column of his throat. Henry rolls his head forward with a look in his eyes that could put a lit tinderbox to shame, prompting Joey to grab at his hips and force him further into his throat. 

“Oh shit. Yes, that’s it love,” he grunts. Joey hums in a wholly resonant way, insomuch that it’s almost a sigh of contentment. “Christ, Joey,” he pants. “You look fucking _angelic_ with my cock in your mouth. It’s maddening.” Joey flutters his eyelashes coquettishly, playing the part. Henry curses under his breath. 

_And then._

He slides his hands from Henry’s hips to grip his arse cheeks again, this time rubbing gently, gliding along the curve. He times each stroke of his fingers to match with the tempo at which Henry fucks into his mouth. Because even though he’d rather pay attention to the wet slurping noises he’s making while trying not to gag or scrape with his teeth, or the torrent of grunts and exhalations Henry’s emitting, he can’t help but act as a conductor in all of it. 

_Time to add some percussion._ Joey brings his hand down in a hard slap to a pert arse cheek. Henry growls, eyes bright and wild. 

“Stop teasing me!” He roars. “If you’re going to play with my arse, then fucking do it.” Joey lets Henry’s cock slip from his swollen lips, taking a string of spit with it.

“Mmm, are you always so bossy and impatient in bed? Because I very much go for that, I’ll have you know,” Joey rasps, dipping his fingers close to Henry’s hole and massaging softly. He watches Henry’s robust cock glisten and twitch as he all but chokes on air. Joey continues to massage, the roughness of his fingertip catching on the tight ring of muscle. Henry’s breath stutters and Joey smiles wryly. 

“Sorry. Guitar calluses,” he murmurs. Henry makes an exasperated noise. 

“I don’t care, just put them in me. Please.” Joey smiles, a sly little upturn of lips and then sits up, pushing Henry to move off him. 

“Turn over then.” 

Henry does as he’s asked, reaching over to the drawer in his bed side table. “Why are you still wearing trousers?” He asks Joey as he hands him a bottle. Joey is poised with a quip, but then Henry is leaning back, bending his knees to spread his legs, and it all but dies on his tongue.

He quickly shucks his jeans and underwear and then he’s on his stomach, shoved between Henry’s parted thighs, pouring lube right below his balls, watching it spread delectably, like syrup on pancakes. 

Joey opens him up at an even, methodical pace. By the time he’s at three fingers, Henry’s cock is nearly purple and he can’t help but lean forward and lap at the tip with his tongue again. Henry’s mostly quiet, save for heavy breathing and slight groans here and there, but then Joey tilts his hand down, brushing directly over his prostate. 

He positively _howls._

“Mmm. There we go. That’s what you needed,” Joey murmurs. He removes his fingers and takes his own cock in hand, slicking it up with more lube. They stare at each other for a moment and then Joey raises his eyebrows expectantly. Confusion spreads over Henry’s face. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Aren’t you going to turn over?” Joey asks, like it’s obvious. 

“Do you want me to?” 

“Oh, erm, not unless you want to, I just...assumed,” Joey trails off. Henry smiles and shakes his head. 

“I want to see you,” he whispers, voice laced in adoration, gazing wantonly. Joey feels another flood of arousal settle deep in his groin. 

_And finally._

He begins by rubbing his cock head along Henry’s entrance, testing it out for a moment before slowly breaching him. Henry exhales shakily and bites his lip. 

“You can go a bit faster, you know,” he advises Joey, who shakes his head. 

“Like this,” he croons, sliding in and out and further back in each time. His lips part in pleasure, looking down at the juncture where they meet. His breathing picks up gradually as he delves further. Henry’s palm rests against his cheek, thumb stroking lovingly. Joey makes an almost pained noise as he bottoms out. 

“There. That’s good. You’re so good, love,” Henry rumbles low. Joey laughs softly, catching his breath. He grins and leans his head against Henry’s bent knee, nuzzling the hairy skin. 

“I love that you’re taking me through this when it should probably be the other way around.” Henry cocks his head to the side, looking at Joey like he’s hung the moon. 

“Come here,” he murmurs, grabbing at Joey’s shoulders and pulling him forward until they’re face to face, chests brushing. He rubs their noses together sweetly and Joey gasps inwardly from the intimacy of it. Henry kisses his lips, once, twice and then his face grows sinister. 

“Move,” he growls, followed by a bite to Joey’s pronounced collarbone and a smack to his supple bottom. 

Something in Joey _snaps,_ fueling him with raw energy. He pins Henry to the bed by his forearms, leveraging himself to thrust hard and deep into Henry’s tight arse. Henry’s grunts mix with Joey’s snarling groans and the rhythm keeps for a while until Joey gets up on his knees again and angles himself to grind downward, where Henry needs it most.

“Fuck,” he grits out, voice coarse and full of gravel. “Mmm, touch my cock, fucking get me off.” Obliging him, Joey jerks him with tight movements, twisting on the upstroke when he nears the head. 

_But then._

Henry makes the most feral noise Joey has ever heard and it hits him with pleasure so sudden and blinding, he has to tense his legs and grit his teeth to not come right then and there. 

“That’s right darling, growl for me, show me your claws,” Joey demands, voice breaking. 

Henry throws his head back, bearing the sinewy column of his throat. He grips and tears at the bed sheets. 

“I’m gonna fucking come,” he bleats. 

Joey’s hips falter, breath catching in his throat as he takes in the sight before him. Henry’s rosy lips are parted, his chest and stomach are flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat, and his muscles ripple and quiver with each strike against his spot. He’s heaving and grunting and yelling for Joey to go faster and—

_Oh._

He stills, body rigid. 

And then,

he _roars._

Joey’s breath is stolen from his lungs with a sudden vice like grip around his cock as Henry clenches around him and thick spurts of cum splatter along his stomach and settle in the furl of hair there. He wants to run his tongue through it, taste it, savor it, but he’s paralyzed in watching Henry come down from his high. Henry slowly opens his eyes, breath evening out. His face is radiant, serene. That is, until Joey shifts a little, starting to pull out. 

Joey had planned to finish himself off and add to the mess on Henry’s stomach, but before he can blink Henry flips them over, seating himself on Joey’s cock. 

“Wait, aren’t you—“

“Shh. I’m fine.” Henry kisses him on the forehead as a placating gesture and then proceeds to render him incoherent by riding his cock with the enthusiasm of an equestrian show jumper. Joey tosses his head to the side, emitting these little crooning moans that steadily heighten in frequency and intensity. 

“Mm, yeah, sing for me, love. Louder!” 

“Fuuucking—oh my—Henry, I—“ He feels the pressure start to build in his pelvic region, until it releases in a blinding flash of pleasure as his balls contract and he spills deep inside of Henry. He sags back against the bed and catches his breath. 

It doesn’t take as long for him to recover as it did Henry, but he wasn’t the one having his prostate stimulated. Regardless, his eyes refocus and the clarity with which he sees the dashing face above him is disarming. 

Henry pulls out and winces, turning over on his back and gathering Joey to his side, burning his face in Joey’s disheveled hair. They stay silent for a moment and Joey suddenly hears the tapping of rain against the window. A great wave of drowsiness washes over him and his eyes flutter shut, only to be awoken a few moments later by the feel of wet warmth on his chest. 

“You can go back to sleep if you want. I’ve got you,” Henry whispers when Joey raises up on his forearms out of curiosity. He cleans Joey up with a flannel, wiping all the sweat and come and lube off his skin with the most tender, reverent look on his face. Joey feels a lump form in his throat, reflexively swallowing around it. _Shit._

Henry finishes up and surveys his handiwork, eyes roving from head to toe. He laughs softly to himself. 

“You really are quite gorgeous, you know?” _Oh no._

Joey just stares, desperately trying to keep any tears at bay. He won’t cry. He _won’t._ Henry just smiles and leans forward, cupping the back of his head and placing a gentle kiss to his forehead, this time long and lingering. 

_Oh fuck._

A sweet achy feeling forms in Joey’s chest. He swallows, throat contracting with a swollen sort of pain in his tonsils and he’s truly powerless against the tears that slip out. Henry’s eyebrows knit in concern and he immediately steps back.

“Did I hurt you, Joey? Are you—“

“N—no I’m fine, I’m fine. I promise. I’m just—“ he covers his face. _I knew I was too weak._

“Just what?”

_An emotional wreck._

He sighs, shaky and hitching, before swiping quickly at his eyes. 

“Sometimes I’m a bit, erm, well I’m just not used to being treated so—so lovingly after—“

“After sex?” Joey nods his head. Henry breaks out into another dazzling grin. 

“Mm, well, you’ve got to get used to it because I can’t help it. I’m told I can be quite...cloying for a while afterwards,” Henry confesses. He moves to the side of the bed, pulling the covers back and gesturing for Joey to get under, sliding in next to him in the process. The bed is huge, but he crowds against Joey, treating him like a body pillow. They sigh contentedly in unison and Joey finds a way to nestle his backside even further into Henry’s warm embrace. 

“‘M sorry,” Joey whispers. Henry tightens his hold and presses a kiss into his nape, inhaling. 

“Never apologize for that. _Please,”_ Henry assures him in a hushed voice. Joey swallows audibly and then nods, once, letting himself relax into the embrace. 

Slowly, silently, they drift, the rain pelting, the air sharp with chill, bodies cocooned in a warmth of their own making. 

  
  



	7. Septem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henry takes Joey home and Madeleine has an idea.
> 
> *Minor edits made on 7/25/20 to fix grammar, punctuation, etc.

**SEPTEM**

It’s drafty in the apartment and silent enough that he can hear the refrigerator humming. Everything is as it was when he left a fortnight ago — a pile of dirty laundry that never made it to the wash, some empty boxes that need to be taken to the bin, a case of soda water that should be tucked away in the kitchen. 

_Should’ve cleaned a bit more before we left._

Joey sets down his acoustic and lute and throws his holdall on the floor next to them in an effort to get to the radiator in the living room. It coughs and splutters to life, rattling gently as it works to generate warmth. 

“Am I forgetting anything?” Joey spins around to find Henry standing in front of the coffee table with the Telecaster slung over his meaty shoulder, one arm holding onto the crate of pedals, the other gripping the handle of his amplifier. 

“Erm, no I think, I think that’s about it.” Henry nods and begins to set everything down on the floor. Joey pictures Henry helping him set up for a gig. The thought of him being around for something like that is daunting. _I’d be even more of a nervous wreck if he was there._ He watches the muscles in Henry’s back flex and bunch while bent over. _And utterly distracted. Madeleine would not be happy about that._ “You know you didn’t have to carry that in?” Joey remarks. “You could have just left it on the stairs.” Henry makes a dismissive gesture. 

“Nonsense. I wanted to get a look at your flat anyway.” His eyes dart around at the menagerie of instruments, books, and knickknacks scattered about. Joey feels his face heat up. 

“Erm, it’s not much. Definitely not like your home, but it’s tidy...sort of.” His vision zeros in on a black bra hanging off the edge of the couch by a strap wedged between the cushions. Henry follows his line of sight and they stare at the offending garment for a moment before Henry chuckles nervously and Joey rubs at the back of his neck. 

“Oh god, okay, look, Madeleine, erm, well…”

“Joey, it’s alright. You don’t have to explain. It’s none of my—”

“Actually, I do need to explain because it _is_ your business now and not only that, but you look absolutely devastated and for no good reason.” He pauses, walking up to Henry and placing his palms right over his pectorals. Henry grasps his hands, holding them against his chest and Joey smiles. 

“Madeleine hates wearing bras and sometimes when we’re wine drunk on the sofa watching telly she likes to be comfortable, so she just sort of takes them off over her clothes and they end up being tossed aside.” 

Henry’s face slowly breaks into a full on grin and then he’s laughing, no, guffawing, throwing his head back. Joey giggles at the sight. 

“That’s absolutely brilliant. I love it. If I looked upset, I’m not, I’m just...well I’m honestly very jealous of her.” Joey can’t help the look of shock that crosses his face. Henry blows out a breath. “I know it makes little sense, but, she knows you better than anyone and it’s obvious.” Joey bites his lip and brings his hands to Henry’s face. He runs his thumb along his cheekbones, kisses the divot at the tip of his nose. 

“We’ve known each other for many years now. I’ve known you for less than two. Give it time, darling, and you’ll find out all my secrets, I promise.” He winks playfully and links his arms around Henry’s neck, leaning in for a kiss. 

It’s sweet and tender, achingly soft, with a slow movement of lips, shuddering breaths breathed into each other’s mouths. It breaks on a pair of moans, one bitten off, the other dragged out. Henry’s eyes bore into Joey’s, hooded with lust and appearing almost bashful as he rubs their noses together. Joey closes his eyes again and lets himself bask in the affection. 

* * *

“I love that not only did you show off your painting skills, but you have your fan fiction up in the background,” Joey says to Henry while he stares at him through the laptop screen. 

Henry is sat in his fancy computer chair, petting at Kal’s head in his lap. He’s let his beard grow out, thick and a touch scraggly, but combined with his lengthening hair, he looks like he belongs in the woods ("like a sexy lumberjack," Madeleine had said) and really, it’s pure torture for Joey, being cooped up all day and trying to diffuse his sexual energy. _I’m fucking horny all the time, darling. It’s madness._ He had whispered to Henry through the phone a few nights ago which served as a preamble to the most erotic phone sex he’s ever had. 

“No one can actually see it. It’s too blurry,” Henry replies, shaking Joey from his thoughts.

“If only they knew how you _really_ feel about the lore,” Joey teases, earning an eye roll from Henry. 

“Hey! I’m enjoying myself, alright? And who knows, I might end up writing my own fantasy novel someday.” 

“Oh! Please do, dear. I want to read it. I’m sure it’ll be marvelous!” Madeleine chimes in from her perch on the couch. Joey turns around to find her scrolling through her mobile. 

Henry chuckles. “I’ll certainly try and if I succeed, I shall include you in the dedication. To Madeleine: who read it first.” He raises his beer bottle to the screen. 

She smiles shyly, returning the gesture with her wine (that most certainly did not come from a box, as they had splurged on the good stuff), and Joey notes the crimson flooding her cheeks. She likes to claim that the charms of men are trite and ineffectual, and thus to watch her cleave to Henry’s innate charisma is amusing, but more so endearing. Joey takes a pull from his own glass, or plastic cup, rather, and Henry eyes him thoughtfully. He counters with an inquisitive look. 

“I just remembered, I was doing the washing earlier in the week and when I went to strip the bed in the guest room, I found something interesting on the floor,” Henry explains with his head cocked to the side. Joey’s eyes widen and a cold sensation trickles down his spine. 

“Ooh, what was it? Was it something naughty? Joey?” Madeleine pipes up. Henry laughs, low and lingering like a church bell. 

“Nothing of the sort. It was the silver chalice I was gifted when we wrapped for the Tudors.” Joey swallows hard, blanching. 

“Did you say silver?” Henry nods.

“Yep, silver and engraved on the bottom.” Joey winces. 

“O-oh erm, I’m _so_ sorry. I-I used it to drink wine the night you were on WoW and honestly I thought it was, well it’s-it’s so…”

“Tawdry?” 

“Yeah, exactly! So I thought I’d have a bit of a laugh with it.” Henry bursts into side-splitting laughter. Madeleine giggles at the display. 

“I’m just picturing you drinking wine out of it and taking yourself seriously,” Henry manages to say once he’s calmed down. 

“Oh, believe me, I relished in it.” They all join in laughter this time. It fades gradually as they wipe their eyes and reach for their respective libations. 

“So you’ll nip over on the weekend, yes?” Henry asks quietly, almost sheepish. Joey nods, watching an errant strand of hair escape and land on Henry’s forehead. 

“Darling, take off your headset for a moment, yeah?” Henry does as he’s asked, shaking out the untamed locks and hastily running a hand through them. “Mm, yeah, that’s what I want to see.” Joey feels a stirring in his belly. _I want you to take me apart, completely, piece by piece._ “I’m aching to see you in person, darling,” he mumbles, watching Henry’s eyes flutter shut. 

“Should I go somewhere else?” Madeleine stage whispers. Henry shakes his head.

“This is probably a good time for me to go, anyway. I promised Charlie I’d ring him.” 

They exchange their goodbyes and Joey scoots back against the base of the couch, head lolling on the cushions, collecting himself. He senses Madeleine’s movements as she lays down to rest her head next to him. He can smell traces of the soap she bathes with when she kisses him on the crown of his head, feels the soft frizz of her hair brushing along his temple. It’s sedative in a way that’s reminiscent of a downy comforter kissing his skin as it floats back down to the bed after a good ruffling. 

“I have an idea,” she trills in his ear. 

“You’re full of ideas, dear,” he murmurs. 

“Good ideas, no?” 

“Always. Now let’s hear it.” He turns his head to observe the twinkling mischief in her eyes. 

“Let’s play poker!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [tumblr](https://margaretheavesasigh.tumblr.com/) is ready.


End file.
